


Gucci Gang

by jeanjosten



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety Disorder, Assassination Plot(s), Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Boarding School, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Car Sex, Codependency, Dark Academia, Dark!Neil, Denial of Feelings, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Drunk Driving, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lacrosse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Missing Persons, Multi, Murder, Overdosing, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Pool Sex, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Raven!Neil, References to Depression, Rough Sex, School Uniforms, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sibling Rivalry, Street Racing, Teacher-Student Relationship, Threesome - M/M/M, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Crush, anger management issues, rich kids, tumblrs are @wndg and @jeanjosten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 65,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanjosten/pseuds/jeanjosten
Summary: Perfection is everywhere. It’s hidden, it’s safe and sound where curious eyes don’t think to linger, it’s where the night stops and starts, in the little things we do not hear. It lies where the right people can spot it—and sometimes, sometimes it lets itself be taken and used, be loved, destroyed even.Nathaniel Wesninski had never been after perfection. He thought it reserved to the weak-minded, at first, those who’d never have anything else to search after than beauty, those who would never understand it and never quite do it justice. But when you’re nineteen, anything can be beautiful: from a timid sunset to gentle hands running along your spine, a kiss, a lie, a pitch black night with nothing but mystery and unknown and secrets. Chaos, too. Chaos above all things.The gods should have considered it when they gave Nathaniel Wesninski all the tools he needed to obtain it: money, power, beauty and depth, eyes that never stared for too long and never gave away everything. They should have known it’d take a monster to destroy one. They should have known monsters and perfection never did too well.If they had known, then perhaps no one would have died.Perhaps.





	1. perdition

**Author's Note:**

> I love commas and hyphens; these boys are pretentious, filthy fuckers; and I am way too dumb to write about intellectuals. This has been your warning. Your support means everything.
> 
> [my tumblr](http://innersystem.tumblr.com) ; [the fic’s pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.fr/oxymorts/gucci-gang-story/) ; [the fic’s tag](https://innersystem.tumblr.com/tagged/gucci/) ; [the fic’s playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/4qRRKO2nhvzRB9ZpeMe73t?si=8ceXJSpxQkG725zhM4f7bw) ; [discord groupchat (+ perfect court)](https://discord.gg/kzz9W)

 

“—Yes.  
And violently? —Violently.” 

William Brewer

  

PROLOGUE

 

 _Tick, tick, tick._ The lulling sound was almost enough to smooth out the edge of the cops’ tension but Nathaniel’s silence wasn’t a melody they wanted to hear. Not now and not here, anyways; not when he was locked up in an interrogation room with both his hands tightly cuffed. And oh, did the boy look unbothered, like it was only a matter of time before his father irrupted and choked the life out of him himself. 

Both cops were looking at Nathaniel like he was something infinitely dangerous and despicable, something that should have been eliminated from the very start. Perhaps were they right, in a sense—Nathaniel was the worst thing that could possibly happen to most of those who had the unlucky opportunity to cross paths with him. He was plague, he was death, and he took time in assessing the damage, no effort in raising guilt. It was teaching a monster benevolence, something that more than surely had never flowed through the Wesninskis’ corrupted veins. 

“Do you have any idea why you are here with us?” someone asked him.

“I do,” he nodded. There wasn’t much more to add.

“Someone died,” the cop still went on, unnecessarily. More than someone, really, but Nathaniel didn’t feel it was his role to point it out. A murder was enough to be accused of, even he knew that much.

Distractedly, he glanced at his own watch, shining almost too arrogantly under the tired neons overhead. It was an odd thing to look so perfect, so clean and so prideful, like perhaps Nathaniel always had had the upper hand on them and they’d known all along. Tension soon turned into quiet threats, no word, no glance, nothing was needed other than Nathaniel’s mere existence—there, he was like a splatter of blood, so terribly flawless it was the only evidence they’d ever need. If there was ever fear or regret in his eyes, they couldn’t tell. Nobody ever did. 

“You have to know it’s serious this time,” the tall black guy absentmindedly hummed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the door. A fool would have seen nonchalance—Nathaniel saw a sealed exit.

Surely he’d been locked up here before, a couple of times like any proper rich kid had to be. It was a dangerous rite of passage, a curiously desperate attempt for uncorrupted police officers to remind them money wasn’t the answer. It was, however—of course it was, and it was money, too, that had paved the escape route out of the police station all these times before. 

Tonight, he wasn’t sure he would get out, at least, it felt like he wouldn’t. 

 _Tick, tick, tick_ the clock sang, and nobody ever came. There was no Nathan, no Mary, no money: he was alone. He thought perhaps he’d always been.

“It’s been an hour. Why won’t you talk?”

“You didn’t tell me what you wanted me to talk about,” he smiled; and it was a soft and dangerous thing, falsely innocent, dimples digging into his cheeks like daggers. 

“Tell us what happened,” the cop insisted—and he didn’t put much effort into trying to hide his impatience. Nathaniel guessed it was all but the first time he had a rich kid in custody, and it was safe to assume troublemakers like him were rarely cooperative. He entertained the thought for a minute, thinking about all the possible ways he could mislead them, deceive and twist and twist, tell them he wasn’t guilty for all that had happened—all of it. It’d be the most monstrous lie he would have ever told. No amount of seduction would ever make it true.

Nathaniel looked away as though searching for an escape. He wasn’t surprised to see there was none.

“I suppose I should start from the beginning.”

Death wasn’t something to rush or deface, after all. If he was going to tell the story of how he’d brought chaos to this world, wide grin and bloody hands, then he was going to tell it exactly like it should be told.

 

 

I.

 

Killing was easier the second time.

It had happened again, and he thought perhaps not everyone was supposed to survive in their woebegone little world. And if he could give them one last moment of beauty through death, they’d have more than they’d ever deserved. Nathaniel Wesninski was a merchant of dreams who specialised in illusions, selling meek hours of false paradises for a few grands, trading life for life. It was a risky business, one that could get him killed—undeniably, however, his life expectancy was greater than this  of his customers. One would have told him such deaths would be devastating for his traffic, but, like all things unbearable, human beings had the dangerous tendency of asking for what was ultimately worst for them. Eventually, there would be nobody left in Edgar Allan’s private boarding school to overdose from Nathaniel’s make-believe medicine.

Nathaniel was supposed to feel something terrible and he knew it: horror, guilt perhaps, a thing so far-off he could hardly grasp it. How could one fake something they had never touched, never borne in their heart? 

He’d only given himself a night to lose control, throat tight at the prospect of someone putting two and two together; a police officer knocking on his door; or perhaps a whole intervention team interrupting the girl’s funeral to escort him to the station, hands unforgivingly cuffed. Boys like Nathaniel had dealt with the police before, but boys like Nathaniel had always seemed to get away. 

Idly, like all boys like Nathaniel did, he wondered how long it’d last.

“Unfortunate,” Riko commented as rain drops faintly fell down his nose. They were warm like summer, tender almost, and none of the boys had really bothered to cover themselves for the grieving weather of Charleston. Instead of their usual uniforms all were dressed in coldly respectful black, pristine and, somehow, incredibly rude. Hypocrisy wasn’t something they were strangers to—but in a funeral, it felt nauseating.

“Tragic,” someone corrected, and it was Kevin, dry voice cutting through the illusion of silence and peace they’d all so carefully entertained. Cameras were far gone now, kicked out of the property—and the students who had been allowed to attend the funeral had almost all vanished. There stood only them, in a quiet and broken circle of clenched jaws and defiance. It was past time to go home now, but none were decided to move, decided to address the vermilion stain on their spotless white lies. 

“Unfortunate,” insisted Riko. He looked at Nathaniel for support, but the latter made sure to keep his eyes fixed to the ground, where the earth had been freshly dug out for a grave. “She knew what would happen to her.” 

“No, she didn’t. She only wanted the high. She wanted to live.” 

Nathaniel’s eyes shot up, then—searching for Kevin’s and instantly attracting them. It was like that, effortless; the two of them gravitating around each other like a single breath could set them alight. And perhaps it could. On Nathaniel’s left, Jean watched it happen, silent as ever. “If she wanted to live, she wouldn’t have asked for our help. Surviving is not living—do not confuse the two.” His tone left no room for protest, but Kevin’s gaze held on still, cold and dark and merciless; like all Raven things. 

Surely, Nathaniel had other problems to deal with than Kevin’s childish scorn. It’d never been a secret, his fervent disapproval for Riko and Nathaniel’s drug business within Edgar Allan’s secretive walls, but neither of them liked how Kevin’s discarded opinion had gone from antagonism to inarguable wisdom. The turn things had taken had been unexpected as it had been terrible, and it gave Kevin all the  leverage he’d needed to bring them back to reason. Neither Nathaniel nor Riko had ever wanted reason—they wanted money, they wanted to matter, to make a difference, to hang on the edge of everyone’s lips like a silent prayer. It did not mean they had to put it to an end—and they would not.

Whoever died was not their responsibility. That they provided them with chaos didn’t mean they had inflicted it. The distinction was subtle, but it was there: perdition was intrinsic. It could only be suggested, vaguely implied, and it was up to the unfortunate wretch to destroy themselves with the knowledge that they could—and that it was the only thing they could ever control. Nathaniel had always find it infinitely mesmerizing, how human beings could only dictate their downfall, how easily they could decide to bring pain and despair to themselves. A self-orchestrated massacre; a delicate writhing. It was beauty—an art, almost.

“Two doesn’t mean much,” Richard shrugged. It was an obvious attempt to lighten the atmosphere, tension building up on each side as boys stared each others down—his righteous streak put aside, today, in favour of saving the group from probable prison terms. Only Lydia seemed unimpressed with their attitude, though she kept a tight frown that was discernibly tainted with worry and shock. None of the Ravens had gotten any sleep last night.

“It means everything,” Andrew corrected. He was leaning against a tombstone, unbothered, arms crossed like he’d been a witness of it all from the very start—and would remain so until the end. It was a safe thing to assume, though it sounded absurd, as Andrew Minyard was the last of the boys to show any interest for whatever anarchy the gang created. “It is more than enough. If you think they aren’t going to ask questions, then you’re more of a pinhead than I took you for. In which case, I owe you an apology for wrongly misjudging you, Richard.” 

The frown Andrew got in response was clearly offended, but Richard didn’t have time to snap something back: already Jean was stepping forward, arms outstretched in both their directions.

“Shut up,” Jean snarled. “Both of you. No one is going to investigate on us. We weren’t even there.” They all knew how thin the line between reassurance and naivety could be, but they wanted to believe; they wanted to find comfort in the grounding wisdom in Jean’s voice. Nathaniel stared, as though daring him to go on. If they all fell in line behind Riko and him, Jean was another sort of a miracle, something fierce and quiet and tall, a stygian concept they would not question. It wasn’t hope; it was strength, and the difference between the two was all they’d ever needed. 

Rumour had it that if Jean said so, then it had to be true.

“Of course they might trace it back to us. Of course they probably think this school has something to do with Nina’s death. Of course they could remember what had happened last year and make the link. But they won’t.” The pause Jean made was significant, and he made it a point to cross each and every cold pair of eyes. “Not because they can’t, not because we’re safe. Because we won’t let them. They can’t have us.” 

“You seem to forget I have nothing to do with this,” Lydia retorted, though with all the seriousness she was capable of, as she uncrossed both arms and stood tall in the middle. She gave a faint flick of fingers Richard’s way, then Andrew’s, and Kevin’s—who glared back, unwilling to be mentioned at all. “None of us played any part in this at all.” All were quick to look for safety in times of uncertainty, but Lydia would never give them up, much less denounce her peers—her home.

“Oh, but you do,” Nathaniel laughed. It was low and dangerous, like a threat, perhaps, but they knew better than to think he was browbeating them. They were his brothers, his family of sorts, a makeshift circle of rich misfits who didn’t seem to have much more than that. Yes, he knew better, too. “We are all in this together. Do I need to remind you who gave benefited from our merchandise?” 

Nathaniel never used the word _drug_ in public—a place like this was never safe, not even when only the dead could hear him.

He could clearly recall Lydia using psychoactives. Andrew, being handed opiates, unasked for, but taking them anyway to ease off his nightmares—and he’d retained their debt notebook by heart with his eidetic memory just to help them track dues. Richard, who by merely studying medicine, had helped them countless times in the supply and information processes. Jean had never properly sold, but had always been the link between customers and dealers from the very start, getting their product across with words and white smiles only, handing phone and dorm room numbers from one to another. And there was Kevin, who never left Riko’s side, hardly Nathaniel’s, being offered whatever leftovers there were without a single blink to smooth out the rough edges of his anxiety. Foolish was to even consider someone like Kevin would have turned it down: as much as he abhorred disobedience and broken rules, people like him needed help to get through the day. It couldn’t be prevented. It was like that—things like misery always were. 

“Jean kept a written trace of every single use we have registered, paid for or not. Who do you think they’re going to blame, when they see a third of it has been freely squandered?”

Nobody said a word after that. All were smart and mature enough to fathom the turn things would take if the police ever put their hands on Jean’s accounting notebook. Knowing him, it was probably locked someplace safe, but it didn’t mean they were untouchable. Secrecy couldn’t make a corpse disappear—not even their fingerprints, and certainly not the invisible bloodstains on their guilty fingertips. Oh, no matter how harsh they rubbed, how long they washed, it was always there. They didn’t regret it, and they didn’t feel heavy, but fear—fear was sickening. And, here again, Jean had been right: they weren’t going to let them. Get to them. Discover the entire truth. What they’d so painstakingly dissimulated all along, long before Nina’s death. It was their only certainty and it always would be.

By the time they spoke up again, rain had thickened, falling into the canopies overhead like a summer hum. None of it felt real; not even death. Perhaps did they all feel it, because Jean looked away and Lydia nervously played with a white-bleached strand of hair. 

“That’s settled, then,” Riko nodded, content. He didn’t seem phased by the familiar name carved into stone a few feet away, a corpse with the traces of their disgrace and sins buried underground, never deep enough. “Let’s go home,” he said—and nobody tried to protest.

 

* * *

 

It starts like it always does—with violence, unmeasured, mindless. 

You must start from the very end of this story to understand the big picture, but violence is the beginning of it all whether you want it to be or not. It explains all things, even those that seem unexplainable—and if, at some point during this confusing, selfish story, you ask yourself why? The answer will always be discord. It is there, unmoving, through the years and the centuries and the universes themselves, like an invisible frontier no one is quite willing to cross because nobody has really seen what’s on the other side. What will they find there? Much like death, and love, and truth and time, most things are left unanswered: that’s what drives human beings to do terrible things. They search, search, they do not find. There’s only misery and its brunt is infinite. The fear of being misunderstood—the dread of not knowing. Depending on how you look at it, knowledge has given birth to sin: everywhere these have been words of a killer, of a monster, of someone you invaded and murdered and imprisoned and tortured. The danger, with knowledge, even when there is none, is to think you have been enlightened by the truth above, by the celestial power of being undoubtedly correct. Then nothing can shake you, and knowledge, like violence, turns from a tool to a weapon, falsely used, degraded. 

There’s no coming back from a violence this pure—this terrifyingly beautiful. The sooner you accept the truth, the longer you will survive. There are those who do, and though they are ruled by fear, they do not question nature’s laws, they do not try to twist and bend and pull it until it breaks. And—there are the others. 

Those who cannot be saved.

“Do you think that’s where we are supposed to be? Where we belong?” Jean asked, arms crossed as he leaned back against the hood of Nathaniel’s black and red Mustang. 

He’d gotten used by now to Jean’s sudden philosophical bursts, as they often happened when they were alone and facing the city from the outlook. It was the middle of the night and they had done as they so frequently did—sneak out of Evermore’s falsely safe space to gain a little height and, from here, they almost had the impression they were looking at more than just the city. The world, or themselves perhaps, whatever Jean thought would fit that night. This time he’d settled on the importance of belonging and Nathaniel couldn’t find it in him to hide his annoyance. These weren’t words he wanted to hear, not when wealth was a deceitful friend, luring you into a world you’d sooner than later realize was never yours.

Nathaniel Wesninski had no particular problem with money, and he cherished it dearly like all rich kids did. Somehow, yet, there was this unspoken evidence in their tiny, tiny little world of shiny cars and tinting Champagne flutes, that there were many things the richest man couldn’t dream of buying. Not these corny concepts of love and family, two things neither of them had ever been familiar with, but something else, something bigger: something they couldn’t name and couldn’t find. Each night spent at the overlook seemed to get them closer to whatever this intangible thing was; and it would even appear to them in fleeting moments of clarity before disappearing completely, unfound. 

“Does it matter?” The shrug was held back, but not fast enough—Jean was able to tell how tense his shoulders went where their bodies touched side by side. Neither had ever felt comfortable with physical proximity and they had learned somewhere along the way to trust enough to let each other in. This was an exception worth making, one that made Nathaniel feel less alone. What had started then as a soft reassurance had turned into an addiction, and now there were only rare occurrences when Jean Moreau and Nathaniel Wesninski weren’t so tightly tangled together they would become indistinguishable. The only things that could possibly make them decipherable were these: their ridiculous height difference, their both untameable tempers, and the degree of bitterness when they spoke about freedom. Jean, as an individual, had mastered the art of bitterness a long time ago; but Nathaniel was new still to the sickening truths about being alive. 

While Jean was an exhausted thinker, one who had seen too much and been ignored too long, the other was halfway trapped between cynicism and pragmatism, a thin frontier to cross, an even thinner to get blinded by. There were too many things in this life that constituted Nathaniel’s burning anger, and so few he could forgive in every breath. Sometimes even breathing was too much. 

Nathaniel didn’t believe in God. Who else would there be to take the blame? Who should be punished after inflicting such empty pains on him, agony meaningless? 

“Why do you think I am asking you? Of course it does,” Jean let out. It was a tired breath, as they had gone through this argument many times before—and each one of them, Nathaniel had insisted they were bound to be here anyways, and that, thus, there would be no point in discussing foolish dreams that could never happen. Not anywhere else but their nightly fantasies, where it was so easy to become someone else than themselves. 

He couldn’t understand where the need to disappear came from. It was simply there, unwilling to go, carved underneath his skin and into his flesh like a burden to bear until the end. Boys like him were meant for oblivion. 

“Tell me, then,” Nathaniel turned his head to meet Jean’s half-crossed gaze, brows so tightly knotted they could have seemed furious. At what, he couldn’t tell yet. “What happens if we’re aliens, misfits? What do we make of ourselves then?” 

It felt satisfying, like cornering Jean somewhere his critical thinking couldn’t be of any help, but as he’d figured out long ago, Jean Moreau almost had an answer for everything—especially things considered hopeless and nonsensical, things like Nathaniel himself. 

“Then we look for what’s waiting elsewhere. Something for us. We shall kill ourselves trying to obtain it, whatever that might be.” It was rather gloomy, as far as hope went; but Jean wasn’t one to hope for anything, and these were mere facts. It was reason and it was logic, humans striving for what would make their happiness even if they were to realize, at the very last moment, that happiness had never existed.

Nathaniel knew that much: happiness didn’t have a price tag and, as all things which did not, they should never be let close enough to settle. He wasn’t going to let hope root itself in his chest and bloom there, falsely innocent, just like he wasn’t going to let anyone in. Or so he thought. Ironically, the deed was already done and there was no going back. Happiness, however? How foolish, how terrible to let himself long for it, when those had driven countless men to folly before him?

The cigarette in Nathaniel’s hand was starting to burn close to the filter now, and he glanced at it, a little bit anxious and a little bit lost, staring at the burned edged before taking a pensive drag. It lasted long enough that he felt Jean’s gaze on him, lingering the way it always shamelessly did: observant and quiet, wise almost, like Jean had been hurt too much to repeat such past mistakes. Whenever he looked at Nathaniel, all he could see was danger, a wound bound to be reopened over and over and over again—but none of the Raven boys were really good at being reasonable, and self-destruction seemed like a correct pastime.

They had kissed, once. Drunk, undoubtedly, but kissed nonetheless, hands searching for oasis as they palpated flesh and flesh and flesh, made thirsty by an entire lifetime of loneliness. Those two boys, of course, had kissed plenty of girls before: gorgeous, irreplaceable girls, girls of heavens and dreams, girls of wonder. But, like most things in life, Nathaniel and Jean had found it unsatisfying, and they had only come to realize it when they’d been desperate enough to make out in the backseat of Jean’s Maserati Alfieri, dimly lit by the blue LEDs on the dashboard, too tangled up in each other’s warmth to give it any thought—not one worth keeping anyway.

It’d been a month, perhaps two, and neither had ever brought it up. It seemed banal enough—or maybe was it so shameless they didn’t think it important to address the problem. Kissing Jean Moreau was not something Nathaniel would ever come to regret. 

Looking at him now, Jean was probably recalling the weight of Nathaniel’s lips on his. He couldn’t tell. 

Silence stretched, almost dangerous, as both searched for the next words to say. Talking felt inadequate now, it felt dirty and odd—and quiet like a beautiful thing neither wanted to damage or destroy. They were content looking at the city, the echo of Jean’s words turning and twisting inside their minds, trying to make sense.

Then Jean’s phone went off and he titled his head to the side, sliding it out of his suit trousers’ pocket to check the caller ID. It was Kevin, of course—it always was. He let a mindless, exhausted grin curve the corners of his lips before raising the phone to his ear, Kevin’s irritated voice already ringing on the other end of the line. Nathaniel watched closely, although he couldn’t hear much but the familiar mumble of Kevin’s deep voice.

“Yes, Kevin,” Jean said when he was done talking. “We’re on our way.” 

Kevin said something Nathaniel didn’t quite catch, then there was a pause where neither of them spoke, Jean understandingly giving him time to search for his words. Hesitation was something Kevin Day was familiar with, anxiety even more so. That it was his two best friends on the phone couldn’t possibly change that. He wasn’t anxious to talk to them—it was anxious to say too much, to let things slip out, unforgiving.

“Is Riko asleep?” Jean asked, finally, when Kevin decidedly didn’t add anything. He glanced at Nathaniel and they held each other’s soft gaze for a moment, unnecessarily so, as though sharing something louder than words. The buzz on the other end was most likely a yes. “Then wait for us in our room, please. We will be there in fifteen.” 

Kevin didn’t like being told what to do, but his nature was as torn on the matter as it was on about everything else. Obedience was so deeply rooted he could hardly get rid of it—but the more important factor, perhaps, was Jean’s soft and detached tone, like it didn’t matter if Kevin obeyed or not, like it couldn’t possibly be important even if they made it. It didn’t mean Jean didn’t care about things, much less about Kevin; it simply meant his patience and perspective made him the perfect voice of wisdom in Kevin’s anxiety-ridden world. 

The line went dead and his phone was put away in a second, Nathaniel taking his last drag before grounding his cigarette with the heel of his shiny shoe. Silence settled as easily as it had before, someone honking in the far distance and slowly bringing them back to reality. They were a little less alone and a little more heavy, but there wasn’t much to be done about it.

“Should we tell him?” Nathaniel asked after a while.

Jean didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. If one was able to figure it out on his own, it was Jean, and it was all they’d been thinking about since then.

“No need,” he brushed off. “He already knows.”

The quick look Nathaniel gave him was lost somewhere between confusion and anger, like he couldn’t believe Jean would have done such a thing without his permission. Kevin was one of them. “Did you tell him?” he asked, but it sounded more like an accusation than a banal question.

The smile on Jean’s face was easy, half-mocking, something familiar that somehow smoothed out the edge of Nathaniel’s violence. “I didn’t need to.” 

“Kevin brought it up, then.”

“He will not. Kevin doesn’t talk about those things, you know he doesn’t.” 

That much was true, they knew. Kevin was a clever boy, half athlete half intellectual, someone constantly torn between extremes and opposites. When he didn’t gravitate around his adoptive brother Riko, he was there with the two of them, and Nathaniel thought that might be exactly where Kevin was supposed to be. Nathaniel and Kevin had been inseparable as children, growing up side by side in Riko’s close shadow—then a year ago, Jean had been transferred to Edgar Allan and it had become to three of them. That he didn’t like talking about his feelings was a faint inconvenience they never put too much thought into, mostly because they never had faced the necessity of bringing such delicate things up. Now the balance within their trio was askew, oddly thrown off, and it didn’t feel right letting Kevin out of it.

“But it isn’t like we really need to talk about this, is it? There is nothing to pull out of it.” 

Jean’s words were accurate, but Nathaniel didn’t like them for all that. He nodded still, because these were his own words—things he had told Jean the moment they’d parted back in Jean’s expensive sport car. He had made sure then to prevent a catastrophe from happening, and he had no one else to blame for that but himself. It was easy to hate himself for choosing wisdom over chaos when he loved it so dearly. It was settling for less and tying his own hands together. It was giving up. Surely, it wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed.

Somehow he didn’t ask Jean what his thoughts on the matter really were. It was obvious Nathaniel’s words had been received, heard and understood, taken into account like Jean only did for him. It was respect, obedience, or something else perhaps, but Nathaniel couldn’t deny the influence he had on both his boys—though for obscure reasons he couldn’t possibly comprehend. They were drawn to one another no matter what, like moths to a lethal flame, and they’d stopped fighting it a long time ago. Now it was another kind of fight, and Nathaniel didn’t think it could be won.

It was one of those, lost in advance; battles that didn’t need saving. They were doomed—abandoned.

“Did he have a panic attack again?” Nathaniel asked when they both pushed themselves off his car and headed for their respective doors. Worry was hard to spot in Nathaniel’s gestures, but Jean had long practice in observing the boy, and he could tell with the way he averted his eyes how tense that prospect made him. 

Jean opened the passenger door and gave one last glance over the city, nightlights shining on the horizon like a nostalgic memory they already missed. “He just wants us.” It wasn’t much, but Nathaniel didn’t need any more. It was reason enough between the three of them—a silent truth they never addressed and never ignored either.

 

* * *

 

Edgar Allan University’s campus was a twist in time, a strange world of in-betweens: classic and modern, wooden stairs and new technologies, marble sculptures and flat TV screens. It was a place where nothing and everything coexisted, nonsense acknowledged, unlabelled with time. People drove the brand new Lamborghinis, wore the latest Dolce & Gabbana suits, drummed haughty fingers over their newest Macbook laptops—but they roamed in castles and ran in stonewall corridors, they glanced outside through giant church-like windows in the middle of Latin classes and frustratedly slammed dusty library books shut. It was the elite of the privileged, the place to be when you were born rich and promising. You didn’t need to have talent—you needed to have money, and that was far enough.

Edgar Allan’s pride was its lacrosse and fencing teams, both operating in different planes of existence. Under the name of the Cenacle club, all members of Riko’s gang were part of the team, each and every one of them exceptionally good at something nobody else could master. For some, it was art, or economics, or horse-riding, for others, it was denial and aggression.

Some days, however, the burden of clarity was too heavy to be ignored.

“We killed her, didn’t we.” It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t need to be. Kevin uselessly added, “Nina, we killed her.” 

Nathaniel’s eyes darkened as he looked up, unbothered yet annoyed at the sudden topic change. He didn’t like talking about these things, not within Castle Evermore’s old walls. Those were the most expensive rooms to have, ones that meant they were the most privileged of the privileged, but it didn’t mean they were safe. Nathaniel had never once felt safe. He wondered if he ever would.

“You didn’t even like her,” he dismissed, but when he averted his eyes, trying to ignore Kevin’s sudden troubled mind, Jean’s gaze didn’t budge, all steady on his tense figure. 

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Yes,” Jean said. It was quiet and stern, something as blunt as truth, and both boys turned to look at him with surprise. “Yes, we killed her.” There was no point in denying what they had done: it didn’t matter that they hadn’t pushed her off a cliff, abandoned in a freezing forest, or stabbed a dozen times. They had led her to her death, and that’s what people would retain. 

Then again, they had never been sinless, not a second.

Kevin’s face twisted, livid, and Jean didn’t waste more time than he had already, getting up to stand before him, a palm stretched out at eyes level. Kevin stared, hesitant and confused, and Nathaniel’s cold gaze stared hard. Whatever they were doing, they had done before, countless times. These were the precious, terrible moments when they didn’t have the strength to pretend this was nothing. Not Nina’s death, not their implication in her drug overdose three days ago. But this—them, the three of them, so perfectly fitting it was sickening. 

“Just take it,” Jean nodded. It was slow, reassuring, and eventually Kevin slid his fingers around Jean’s warm hand. He was pulled to a stand almost instantly, and up into Jean’s arms in the same breath. Kevin didn’t react in the beginning, surprised by the unexpected contact, a display of support and affection Jean rarely allowed—but then Kevin’s eyes met Nathaniel’s, and they held on, scrutinising, searching for what they wanted to find there. Kevin’s arms wrapped around Jean, at last, accepting whatever he was given for tonight. He let anxiety walk back to the shadows for the moment Jean held him there, safe and steady, like a father did his son, and the way Nathaniel looked away was half-bitterness, half-tenderness.

It didn’t take long for Kevin’s panic to slow to a stop. Breaths steadied and shoulders relaxed, minute after minute, his crumpled form on Nathaniel’s bed rising with every breath in. Nathaniel’s arms possessively wrapped around Kevin like Jean’s had, the other boy in his back, breathing hot against the soft skin of his nape, he had everything. All he wasn’t allowed to have—all he capriciously craved anyway. 

“Jean,” was Nathaniel’s quiet whisper, so low he wondered if he’d said it aloud. Kevin didn’t budge and he assumed he was asleep, but no response came from behind him and he figured he’d fare better if he drifted back to unconsciousness. 

Then, though, Jean’s tired hum caressed his skin, making him shiver against both boys. 

“What I said earlier,” he started, even when it didn’t feel right. He hesitated there, for a brief moment, wondering what words he should pick. It felt like none could perfectly describe what he needed to describe, like what they had could never be translated into words. And it couldn’t. “About—”

“I know.” Jean cut people off shamelessly, for various reasons—rude, moody, not wanting to hear any more nonsense than he’d heard already—but now, it was something else, it was acceptation, like admitting he had never really stopped thinking about his words. They were referring to Nathaniel’s one-sided deal, his cold agreement to keep going on the paths they had chosen without looking back at the wet kisses they had shared to numbness on his backseat. That Jean had figured it out meant a lot—that he mouthed a wordless kiss onto the back of Nathaniel’s neck meant everything. 

Nathaniel closed his eyes, squeezing his arms a little tighter around Kevin to make up for the guilty reassurance of Jean’s lips. “I didn’t mean it,” he went on still, even though there was no need, even though Jean knew all there was to know already. Perhaps was it the reason why he’d been so angry all along: it wasn’t rejection, it was the certainty Nathaniel was doing it against his will. 

It made no sense, like all things Nathaniel did. But tonight, he allowed it, turning halfway on his back to be met with Jean’s lips. They didn’t linger, they didn’t wait, didn’t try to create tension by hovering each other’s lips in hesitation. They went for it like they had done before, taking and giving equally, comforting themselves in the strange familiarity of something they had missed without knowing. 

The kiss was soft and slow, tender almost—it made no sense but their scattered breaths, Nathaniel’s hand lost in Kevin’s ruffled hair. And when they parted, Jean rested his lips on his temple, granting one last proof it was the thing to do as the other closed his eyes. It wasn’t exhaustion; it was relief.

“What if it doesn’t get any better,” Nathaniel asked, though he wasn’t sure he was referring to.

“There’s no such thing as getting better.” 

He let Jean’s words pull him back to reality, lulled by his boys’ breaths and his boys’ warmth, content with whatever terrifying consequences there had to be for such a moment of weakness. He’d let Jean in, and he’d let him settle, and now it was to late to even dislodge him. 

“What can we do for the girl?”

Jean breathed deep, scouting closer in the dark. In the distance, drunk students crossed the lawn in roaring sounds, and disordered laughters. “Wait,” he replied. There’s no body to take care of, no trace to erase. The job has done itself.”

“I didn’t think it would happen again,” Nathaniel admitted in the quiet. 

Jean didn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault, because it was, as it had been the first time around. He didn’t waste his breath trying to provide him lies and lies and lies, makeshift truths that were meant to chase the dread away. This of being found, of being captured like a wild animal finally cornered. Creatures like Nathaniel couldn’t survive in captivity.

Jean would never let them get their hands on him. 

“They closed the case.” 

“They’re reopening it,” Nathaniel countered, though he had no proof of what he was advancing. Jean didn’t try to reason him; chances were he was right and they knew it. The coincidence was too bizarre, the deaths too closely linked, and it was only a matter of time before they figured what—who—linked them both. 

“Then we’ll make them close it again.” 

Nathaniel thought about this for a moment. He thought about all the lies he had ever told, all those Jean had ever made up for him. All the times he and Kevin had put themselves in compromising positions to help him out, to make him safe. Nathaniel Wesninski didn’t need to be safe. He needed to feel alive.

“Take me out tomorrow,” he said. 

“Okay.” 

“We’ll go with him,” he added, mindlessly caressing Kevin’s hair. 

“Okay.” 

He closed his eyes again, exhausted beyond reason. He could still feel dread and adrenaline warring inside of him, fighting for the unattainable upper-hand, ceaselessly switching positions. It was as nauseating as it was addictive—like many things in Nathaniel’s life. He needed the rush again. He needed to feel so terrible he wouldn’t feel anything. He needed to thrive to the point of numbness—in the dark, in the drugs, in Jean’s lie-sewn mouth. He wanted the colours and the blood and the shivers, cars getting faster and smoke burning throats. Wet kisses in swimming pools. Blood pumping at his ears, urging him to choose: life, or death, nothing he could ever settle on. Nothing that could ever satisfy him.

“I need pain,” Nathaniel whispered as he grabbed Jean’s hand and wrapped it around his own throat, finger after finger. He felt them twitch against the flesh, pressing ever so slightly, just enough that he’d feel it. The smile on Nathaniel’s lips was content and somber, as twisted as could be. 

“Then you shall have pain,” Jean complied, turning the threat into a caress as he let his thumb trace minuscule circles. “Anything you want,” he said. 

“Anything?” Nathaniel asked, voice half a tease, half a demand. He wanted to make sure he could have the world. He needed to know he could have it all.

“Anything.”

 

* * *

 

All were waiting outside the dinner hall, arms crossed, leaning against marble—looking at each other with the vile annoyance of boredom. There was no satisfaction to take out of this instant, no distraction to enjoy, forks and glasses still tinting from inside the dining room where all students joyfully debated trivial things over fancy food. 

Kevin and Riko were late—again. 

“No more,” Lydia sighed as she searched for support around. Only Richard seemed to be listening, face tense but quiet, taking every detail in just in case. Real conflicts were rare and avoided within the group, for they were always bound to degenerate; tonight was only mere irritation and Nathaniel sensed it, content then to stay in the sidelines in clean silence. He hardly had time to snort in mockery before Lydia spoke up again. “They’re always the ones. Do I make you late when I’m preparing all this attire?” With that, she gestured to her own rather short silky peach dress, and all eyes idly lingered. 

“This isn’t attire. This is lure,” corrected Jean. He did so nonchalantly, as though giving undeniable statements, but Lydia’s smile was instant.

“Does that mean you’re enjoying it?” A sly, sly smile on the lips and she was the queen of everything.

“These aren’t my priorities. I have other things than your frivolous attire on my mind.” 

The words triggered a reaction after another, Lydia staring at Jean, who stared at Nathaniel in his turn, him way too focused on the glint of amusement shining in Lydia’s childish eyes. She could brute and she could be blunt, but most of the time, she liked to push people out of their comfort zone. It was fascinating, she’d always say, watching them back off and search for familiarity where there was none. Panicky animals, forced out of their dens, hunted.

The weight of Jean’s gaze was terrible, but Nathaniel did not acknowledge it. He crossed Andrew’s, however, though there was no such thing as interest in his. He was watching like one would witness something accidental, reflex physical, hardly intentional. Then Riko was half down the stairs, closely followed by Kevin, and everyone seemed to forget about it. 

“You guys are no fun,” Lydia said as she uncrossed her arms, Kevin frowning on his way to Nathaniel. It was easy to expect them to wait for the two of them, and for a reason unknown, they always did. It wasn’t quite that they couldn’t go anywhere without Riko and his brother, but rather that it didn’t feel right. Something would be missing, a too important piece to take out of the picture. 

Not that Nathaniel would ever restrict himself for group dynamics, anyway—still, the least patient of them all, he was there waiting for Kevin to join him. This was the only proof they needed, a strange and questionable sense of loyalty and unity in their nonsensical mixture of chaos. To others, they didn’t make any sense. To one another, they pretended not to see. 

“Next time leave ahead,” Riko growled absentmindedly when everyone was ready to go. Pushed off their walls, jackets thrown above a shoulder, car keys in hand and sleek clothes thoroughly dusted, they were all longing for that Friday night high, for the fragile taste of liberty. 

None lingered any longer, already walking down the entrance hall of the main building and out towards their cars. Edgar Allan University provided them with special services, like private chauffeurs and shuttles for the night, but reckless kids like them liked the thrill of danger a little better. It was as easy as existing to slip out of the police’s fingers, to find a way back to avoidance. Privileged ones like them never got arrested—they were never charged for anything. Drunk driving was overlooked, rules made unsure when money served as a VIP pass for disregard. 

“Where?” Jean asked as he opened the driver’s door of his spotless Maserati. It was a glistening, elegant thing, the loyal reflection of his own. Everything Jean Moreau owned looked like Jean himself, predictably refined, aiming for perfection even when there could be none. 

Nathaniel didn’t hesitate before sliding in the passenger seat, rides made easier by sharing cars, a practice they’d started a long time ago. Loners like Riko and Andrew preferred the tranquility of aloneness, and whereas Lydia and Richard alternatively shared their cars with those playful snapbacks of siblings, Kevin went back and forth between Riko and his two boys. Tonight, he seemed to hesitate, hands in his pockets and gaze dark.

“The Obelisk,” Riko told everyone before doors started closing, glancing around to make sure they’d all heard their destination. It was their favourite place to be, a kingdom where they seemed to effortlessly rule, kids often seen and never questioned. “Coming?” he asked when Kevin didn’t budge, standing somewhere in between Lydia and Jean’s cars. 

The question brought Jean’s attention to them, hands patiently resting on the sleek roof of his Maserati. It could have been expectation, or perhaps encouragement—no one could tell. When Kevin met his eyes, he held it for a moment, and Riko sighed, swiftly sliding inside his monstrous Bugatti to start the engine. Silence was answer enough.

Kevin dragged his feet to Jean’s car, half-reluctantly, and Nathaniel watched his progress in the rearview mirror until he got close enough to be seen through the window. There, the two boys shared a heavy look, almost hateful. 

“Why the hesitation?” Jean asked. It could’ve been nothing, but Nathaniel figured he was trying to see if Kevin had heard what happened the night before. It wasn’t likely—but it was possible. This seemed to serve as a rule around here. 

“I don’t like sitting in the back,” Kevin shrugged when Jean pulled on a handle to tilt his seat. 

“What are you doing with us, then?” Nathaniel’s voice came from the inside, and Kevin went cold. It wasn’t quite a reproach, not a jest, either; it was blank honesty, the urge to know whatever went through Kevin’s mind. It could have stayed this only, perhaps, except Kevin’s eyes turned into stone and Nathaniel’s knee-jerk reaction to any sort of aggression was, inevitably, greater violence. The smile was on his lips before the words even were, and both boys froze in their positions outside the car. “Got into a fight with your lovely brother? Couldn’t handle the tragic reality of being alone? This is sure going to be painful when you two have to part and live like adults do.”

Violence was free, and here was it, given on open palms like it could cure their pain. “Nathaniel,” was Jean’s careful warning, and he looked away, searching through the dark window to check if the others had gone already. 

It took Kevin a little more to gain his composure and throw the irritation away, though not completely—a frustration that was bound to grow and grow and grow, exploding later in the cruel depths of the night. With alcohol in one hand and drugs in another, it was easy to fathom how terrible these things could become. Them, or the monsters that created them in the first place, people who didn’t fear nightmares, people like Nathaniel.

Childish it was, to create conflict for such little things, but Kevin and Nathaniel had grown side by side as brothers, and none could be crueller than brothers. 

Jean pushed his seat back until it clicked and Kevin settled on the backseat, neatly avoiding Nathaniel’s reflection in the rearview mirror. Engines had started all around them, cars smoothly driving backwards and off the alleyways of the private parking lot—but Jean took the time to connect his phone to the bluetooth station before doing so. The keys dangled near his knees, ones surely too big for a driver, his stature so tall and lean it was barely comfortable sitting there. He didn’t mind: Maseratis were worth their while. 

“Nobody likes riding with Riko anyways,” Jean hummed to himself when the dashboard lit up, all blue and ethereal, projecting all shades onto their angular faces. “Will you come home with us?” he asked Kevin as he peeped in the rearview, but Kevin was too tense to return it.

“I guess so.” 

“Alright,” he said, and that was it.

The ride to The Obelisk was meant to be twenty minutes long, but monsters like Jean’s car cut it in half a little too easily. Overtaking cars and ignoring red lights was banality by now, and they weren’t even the first to arrive at the club. Lydia and Andrew were standing side by side on the sidewalk, expectantly waiting for them as the rest of the group vividly argued in the middle of the parking lot. 

They could still hear their voices when they parked and cut the engine off, letting silence invade the car. Jean sighed, ran a hand through his black hair and turned to Nathaniel. “Are you happy yet?” As much as Jean thrived for chaos—would he like Nathaniel if he did not—and enjoyed losing himself in perdition, some nights, he didn’t want to go. Not there, not with all of them, at least. That he’d taken him out still, on the sole reason that he’d been asked to, was astonishing enough. 

“Not yet,” Nathaniel returned, grin playful, and both felt the weight of Kevin’s gaze between them. He didn’t say a word, as he often did when he was sulking, but they could feel it—the wordless questions, the dark irritation, the envy and the bitterness of being put aside. He should have known, when Jean and Nathaniel had been assigned as roommates a year ago, that things would eventually turn out like this. He didn’t need to hear them kiss in his back to pick up on it. They didn’t even need to kiss at all.

After all, they’d only did twice. Nathaniel lingered, devouring Jean with tired eyes, longing to feel his lips on his again. A third time then, granted, forbidden—stolen on a whim.

“If you’re done now, can I get out of here?” Kevin lost his patience when neither talked.

They didn’t break eye contact for all that, and when Jean spoke, it was undoubtedly to Nathaniel. “You deal with him.” 

Nathaniel snorted but didn’t protest, turning to open his door and push the seat forward. Kevin reluctantly followed without a thank you, and by the time they were all out, Jean already had lit a cigarette. 

“Again,” Lydia’s voice came to them before they even reached the sidewalk. It was a little farther up than the waiting line, granting them enough privacy to talk and enough space to wait. “I’m getting sick of waiting for all of you.” 

“Then don’t fucking wait,” Andrew groaned, voice low and distant as it always was. Nobody addressed the fact that he, too, was waiting for the lot. “We’re not a pack. You can survive on your own.” 

It was meant to be rude, but only sounded empty—and Nathaniel watched, confused, as he realized they were more of a pack than any other group could ever be. They stuck together even when they didn’t want to, they tolerated then hated each other’s guts the following second, never knowing where to settle on the acceptance scale. It was somewhere between family and burden, and they could never decide. On nights like these, when they could go anywhere, do whatever they want, become strangers to one another—they still stayed. 

“What’s the matter?” Richard asked when they finally joined the lot. 

“None,” Jean simply replied. It was blank, as it often was, and Richard figured it was useless to linger on it. 

Nathaniel stayed on the side, oddly quiet, waiting for them all to get in to fall back at Jean’s arm. Their shoulders brushed as they followed, and the smile on Jean’s face looked like a privilege.

“We can still go somewhere they won’t.” It was comprehension more than annoyance; the demand had been explicit, and Kevin’s presence merely allowed—at no point had he specifically asked for the gang’s companionship. A chaotic one, on top of that, as though the three of them weren’t chaotic enough on their own. 

“It’s fine,” he said, and the doors closed behind them. It was the backdoor they used for specific customers, or, more precisely, customers who could pay their importance. One glance and Nathaniel saw that Kevin and Lydia were already at the bar. Riko had disappeared to the toilets, and Richard had found a table. “They can watch if they want.” 

Nonchalance, on Nathaniel’s lips, never sounded like anything but defiance. It was showing them he didn’t care, daring them to make a difference when they so clearly couldn’t. He was too far, unreachable. His own king of sorts, throne unbreakable. 

And Jean, never too far.

Jean’s lips twitched without a smile, focused on the words. “Does that mean we will reiterate?” 

Nathaniel fished his phone out of his pocket, eyes playfully escaping his. “You might be surprised that I know what I want.” 

“And do you always get it?” It was a serious question, or at least, it sounded like one—the tremor in Jean’s voice was too amused not to be more. It was his own sort of provocation, something quiet and soft he had mastered long ago.

This time, Nathaniel locked eyes with his, chilly blue against cold stone. “Undoubtedly.” 

The audacity, though predictable, pulled a genuine laughter out of Jean’s throat. It was a rare, precious thing to hear, one only Nathaniel seemed able to control—and oh, they all knew that. He could summon it with a smile, with a word; and, it seemed, with a kiss. But if Nathaniel held such powers on Jean, it was fairly requited: when Jean left for the crowd, cutting through bodies to meet Riko outside the restroom, Nathaniel’s eyes cautiously followed him. They did as they always would, following him everywhere, glancing at shadows in the blink of an eye. Jean could never escape it.

Nobody really expected them to behave in a place like this. Safe in the back, piled up on the corner booth, they watched over the room like rulers their kingdoms. They were here to feast, shiny glasses glistening on the table, rails of cocaine offered like paths to heavens.

“Prost,” Nathaniel smiled as he tweaked his line of snow with the tip of his credit card. He heard Lydia snort but didn’t look up, too absorbed by the familiar adrenaline rushing through his veins. 

It was easy to break the rules when you had the money, and the Obelisk didn’t have anything but people like them. Kings before their time, ordering about with a flick of fingers. Nobody ever questioned the drugs and the blood and the sex; it was an underground den where somber things happened in terrible tranquility. A glance to the neighbouring table would be enough to realize they were all the same, aiming for numbness, for the stars, for the unattainable. The glory of the rich.

Nathaniel didn’t even feel Jean’s arm slide along the top of their booth, cornering him in a subtle embrace. He wasn’t forbidding him to leave; he was claiming him, eyes confident and roaming to dissuade whoever needed his proof. They’d been each other’s before they’d even tasted it. 

“Fucking hell,” Lydia burst out laughing as she rubbed her nostrils with painted nails. Riko slid her a content look, twirling his whiskey with a haughty wrist. It was like watching his own children grow up, pride radiating from his terrible smile. They didn’t mind, they’d done it countless times before, addicted to the high, creatures lost.

Andrew declined the offer, quietly sipping on his strong drink like he couldn’t be touched. Every knew not to insist, not quite out of respect, yet not quite out of fear, either, something strange lost in between the two that could easily be called routine. Richard, on the other hand, was an easy target, one that attracted curious, expectant gazes. Nathaniel stared without meaning to, and so did the others, eyes going back and forth between Riko and Nathaniel’s cocaine small packet and the drink in his hand. 

People like Richard were sensible to drugs, but that didn’t mean they didn’t consume them. Richard, like every single one of them, was too far gone.

“Do you need more?” Kevin asked, a little confused, as Richard seemed to hesitate. It was like that—a fearful child trying to weigh the consequences of his every sin. Nathaniel would tell him it wasn’t worth the torture. All sins were infinite, lingering under your skin like a constant remainder of who you really are. He maintained nobody could really change, and perhaps is that what terrified Richard the most: he dreaded an adult existence as chaotic and wobbly as the one he had one, a life where he would never be mature enough to be responsible. Richard’s principle was that all of this would be temporary, that, eventually, he’ll get over it. 

Whether or not it was naïve, they couldn’t tell. By the way Richard smiled, inspecting what was left of his vodka glass, it probably was.

“I have enough,” he shook his head, and Nathaniel slowly pushed the small packet to the other side of the table. Richard and him shared a silent look, but it didn’t take more than that. While Andrew liked whatever could ease him to sleep without nightmares, Richard enjoyed the taste of a colorful life—faster, a little more intense, a little louder.

He dropped a small amount of snow into his drink and Riko idly handed him a metallic stirrer. He took it without even thinking about it, mixing the two easily until one couldn’t see the powder that had landed on his ice cubes. 

What Richard was doing was called cocaethylene, a drug produced by the alliance of alcohol and cocaine. He’d need glorious amounts for it to give a real high, but nobody reproached him to dilute the effects in alcohol; a kid as sensible as Richard needed it diluted anyway. He’d sniffed it once, only, but Nathaniel could still remember how uncontrollable he had become then. He must have known: afterward, he only consumed it orally, reasonable in his own destruction.

Everyone stared when he emptied his drink, and Andrew got off the booth to get more drinks. Lydia took the opportunity to get free, easily sliding off the leathered booth to stand up. Her dress had lifted a little, and Jean’s eyes, closest to her where he closed the booth, inspected the tan patches of skin in silence. One couldn’t see much in such a darkness, but they knew each other’s bodies more shamelessly than they all should have. It was no secret that Lydia Sheffield owner her body; that she’d offered it to the boys who had asked for it. It wasn’t prostitution, it was manipulation, and she did it magically, controlling eyes and mind with a flutter of false eyelashes. For a girl studying Law, using her looks was part of the deal.

“Are you coming?” she asked, and nobody needed to put much effort into the question. It was directed to Kevin, of course, as it always was. Lydia was a free soul, devoid of pure and pathetic love, and preferred the enjoyable compromise of having consensually having fun. Every knew about her and Kevin, a thing often off and on, never sure, never stable. Kevin himself couldn’t have described what it was.

Against Jean’s shoulder, his arm still surrounding him on the back of their seat like a possessive shield, Nathaniel stiffened at the words—but he smiled, still, a cold and terrible smile that Kevin noticed in the second.

“I don’t dance,” he said, because he didn’t dance.

Lydia stayed there, arms crossed and unimpressed. “I know you don’t. That’s not what I’m asking.” 

Drugs in her system, she was growing fidgety, needing adequate intensity in accord with the state of her body. “I’ll go,” Riko said when Kevin made no move to join her, and he slid close to Kevin to urge him to let him go. Kevin stood up and Riko followed, and the latter watched when he and Lydia rushed to the dance floor in a playful smile, hands on each other’s bodies like they’d done it too many times. Oh, they had, and everyone knew Kevin and his brother shared more than they should.

“Why don’t you ever dance?” Richard asked, though uselessly, as Kevin sat back down. 

“There is no point,” Kevin only answered. It was all Richard would ever get on the matter.

Nathaniel’s smile was fierce, now, both content that Kevin had declined the offer and cruelly amused by Kevin’s inability to have such a level of fun. That he had to watch his own brother have fun in his place should have been terrible, but Nathaniel knew what all of them didn’t: he’d rather stay with Nathaniel and Jean than with anyone else. 

Perhaps did Richard sense it, eventually, because unease slowly sipped through the silence and they all pretended to listen to the deafening bass of the club’s music. 

“I have a question,” Nathaniel spoke aloud, still bitter though he didn’t know why. It was like that, a chaos without a name, without a reason. He didn’t think chaos needed any. “For Kevin,” he clarified when Richard’s eyes crossed his. Everyone’s gaze slid to Kevin, then, who only looked up to meet Nathaniel’s. 

Kevin’s silence was telling, and nothing more was needed to encourage Nathaniel’s twisted game. He was feeling the high of it already, body hot and awake, throbbing to exist in any way it could. It was only a matter of time before he’d had to transfer it, and tonight he already knew how. 

“How come you’re so eager to get with Lydia one day, and then deny her the other?” 

The question was legitimate, and Kevin would have answered it honestly if there had any use for it. There had none, nonetheless, none but Nathaniel’s somber curiosity, questions asked to which he already knew all the answers. Whatever floated between the two of them as they stared each other down could easily be mistaken as a dangerous tension, but it was understanding. 

“I’m not interested,” Kevin shrugged.

“Interested, then?” Nathaniel teased; and though Richard thought he was only echoing Kevin’s words, Kevin knew full well this was a proposition. It was a privilege, though it also was not: Jean and him had cornered Kevin too many times now for it to be a simple invitation. It was knowledge. Why would they sleep in the same bed otherwise? Why would Kevin let Jean embrace him, he who never allowed anyone that close? Jean never offered any, anyway.

It wasn’t an inner circle, it was intimacy and he knew it. 

Nathaniel felt Jean shift at his sides, showing a little more interest in the conversation than he usually did, drink in his hand and before his mouth as his eyes scanned Kevin’s every micro expression in the search of what he wanted.

“Not my thing,” he said, each word heavy and articulated like a threat. 

“Too bad,” Nathaniel smiled. “There’s no shame in kissing boys.” Kevin stared, livid, and Nathaniel could guess he didn’t like these things to be referred to by such explicit words. Richard frowned, confused as he hopped into the conversation, but distraction got the best of him when his phone vibrated on the table. “Do you give a shit?” Nathaniel asked when he turned to Jean. He was closer than he’d expected, but he didn’t budge.

The way Jean’s brows arched was equally judgmental and amused. “Oh, do I look like I give a shit?” 

Nathaniel sensed it before it even started, the way Jean’s arm slid off the seat and wrapped around his waist, the way they seemed to lean in naturally; he gave Kevin a meaningful look before giving in, fingers tightened around his drink. He didn’t need to look to know Kevin’s were, too.

This kiss had more of their first than their second, slurred and slow, blurry with heat and hunger. Nathaniel tasted Jean’s fancy tequila cocktail on his tongue, lost himself in the flavour when Jean’s hand slid under his chin to grab his neck. It steadied more than it pressured, but the gesture looked impressive anyway, Kevin’s face tightening with bitterness at the mindless display of possessiveness. It wasn’t that he minded Jean and Nathaniel being so; it was that he minded not being part of the circus. Left aside, knowingly, he felt inadequate and abandoned, and anger flashed through his face second after second, threatening to burst into aggression. 

“Are you done?” Kevin growled, Richard somehow still actively typing on his phone. 

Nathaniel turned his head at the words, ever so slightly, but Jean didn’t bother parting and neither did Nathaniel. The kiss went on, though a little more intimate, Jean’s lips mouthing wet kisses at his jaw as Nathaniel stared hard at Kevin’s pale face. He tilted his neck to leave Jean more room and made it a point not to break eye contact until it would be necessary, a little too aware of the effect they both had on him. Somehow it was obvious, and paradoxically, nobody could tell. 

The rest of the gang, lost somewhere in the dark nightclub, would never hear about this. They wouldn’t care enough to inform them, privacy a wobbly thing they liked to hand to the unpredictable hands of coincidence. It wasn’t like Kevin would ever tell them, betraying his own interest if he did; and Richard, who’d finally looked up, seemed confused enough not to ask any questions. He knew better.

“Fuck you,” is all Kevin whispered as he pushed his drink aside, so brutally it spilled everywhere, and slid off the booth to disappear into the darkness. 

Nathaniel’s reflex was instant and he tensed, parting from Jean’s lips and ready to hop over Jean’s lap to get out of the booth and at Kevin’s wake. Jean grabbed his arm before he could, steadying him through his impulsions. 

“Let him,” he said. It wasn’t selfish; it was wise. 

“Why would I?” That, on the other hand, was as selfish as could be.

“Because he’ll come back to us.” 

Jean didn’t mean Richard, and he didn’t mean Riko; he didn’t even mean the gang itself. He knew better than anyone else how things would turn out, for some obscure reason Nathaniel couldn’t grasp. It seemed easy, for Jean, to hold a prognostic, and easier even to have it confirmed later on. He trusted Jean’s insight more than he did himself, even when it came to Kevin—especially when it came to Kevin.

It wasn’t rejection and Nathaniel didn’t feel like it was, perhaps is that why it was so easy to get over Kevin’s sudden disappearance. Their clashing personalities and constant defiance were no secret, and Nathaniel had no trouble making up for it by letting Jean drag him to the back of the club, where they made out in groans and whispers in an empty corridor.

Nathaniel realized, as he let Jean’s numb lips claim his own again and again, that he didn’t want Kevin to come back—he wanted Kevin, period. He wanted Kevin on the edge, Kevin unmade, Kevin ready to admit all these terrible things he denied in every glance. He wanted them both under his thirsty palms, amiable, asking for chaos. He’d so willingly give it.

“I wanna go home, now,” Nathaniel mouthed against Jean’s neck. He didn’t mind doing it here, in the open, for all eyes to see; oh, he didn’t mind being caught red-handed and pointed at. Nobody would ever dare, and if they did, they’d come to the point of regretting it. It was all that mattered.

No, Nathaniel was not afraid of staying here; he simply wanted more. He wanted Jean all for himself, his entire attention, his greedy hands. He wanted to know they had eternity before them. He selfishly wanted to keep him close like a secret, where nobody would ever know. It wasn’t shame, it was hunger.

“Now?” Jean breathed out, a little broken with each buck of hips. It was blinding, deafening too, and he held himself right up by resting his hands on the wall, bodies crashing against one another in the wobbliness of lust and drunkenness. 

Neon blue flashed upon Jean’s face, ethereal.

“Now,” he said—and yet, as though daring himself to stop, he slid a hand between Jean’s legs, cackling in satisfaction at the sounds he was given.

“Nathaniel!” someone yelled over the music, and Nathaniel turned his head so hard he would’ve hit the wall if Jean hadn’t rushed to wrap tender fingers around his skull. They didn’t part even when they spotted Richard a few feet from them, but Nathaniel’s hand went still against his crotch.

He didn’t need to ask for more information; Richard’s eyes had the same secondhand panic they always had whenever something happened. 

“Riko?” he said—and Richard nodded.

He let his head fall back against Jean’s hand, sighing as he did. He didn’t like the idea of putting this to an end just to get Riko out of trouble and, for a short moment, he hesitated. He didn’t need to hesitate for much longer, because Richard added in a rush:

“And Kevin, too.” 

Jean and Nathaniel both turned at the name, inspecting Richard’s face for somber details but finding none. Riko getting into fights in a ritzy nightclub was one thing—but Riko and Kevin fighting each other, for reasons unknown, required everyone’s intervention before it could escalate. 

“I’m gonna kill him if Riko doesn’t,” he growled low against Jean’s cheek, nudging his with the tip of his nose. Jean’s hands were tender in his hair, a promise perhaps. He stole a swift laughter for the words, though neither were amused, and they parted just as easily as they’d met, rushing at Richard’s sides because only them could convince Kevin to do anything.

Such a power should have a dark miracle of sorts—but it was terrible, as terrible as leading Kevin to his downfall. Not that they could possibly know. Not that they could possibly protect him from chaos when they were chaos themselves, bleeding in the night like it was the only way to exist, losing themselves in all things unfathomable to remember how to breathe. None of them could be saved. 

Certainly not the three of them. 

 

 


	2. debauchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth,  
> I can make you beg,  
> I can make you beg.
> 
> — N. L. Shompole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just dudes being creepy. + In case you ever wondered where Kevin’s car kink comes from.

Nathaniel’s sigh filled the room, lost somewhere between exhaustion and annoyance. Jean only looked up, a little amused and a little tired, straightening up in his seat with an arm elegantly draped over the armrest. It was past five now.

“I’m going to kill him, you know.” These were words they had heard too many times to really care, especially when timid skies were turning clear outside, trading darkness for soothing greys. 

“Which one?” Jean asked—it was a legitimate question and he knew it.

“Both.” 

Usually, the threat would have been sharp and uneasy, leaving Jean restless with anxiety—but tonight, he figured they were false enough. Violence wasn’t to be joked about when it was so likely, so very usual. Jean accepted that with a nod, eyes wandering back to Kevin’s sleepy form. He was sprawled on Jean’s bed, as he often was, face adorned with ugly bruises turning purple; they weren’t pleasant to look at, but both liked them still, perhaps more accustomed to violence than they were supposed to be. 

Kevin and Nathaniel had fought again after Andrew had pushed Riko out of reach, somehow ignored each other on the ride back, and made a truce of sorts when Jean had cautiously patched him up in the bathroom. 

Nathaniel ran his hands in his hair and sighed again. This time, he sounded more wearied than miffed, and Jean couldn’t help but glance, checking on him like he always had. Things hadn’t always been that easy between the two of them—they’d been violent, and rough, and terrible, yes; but easy, absolutely not. It was hard now to pinpoint the exact moment when they’d gone from nemesis to allies, losing themselves between the names they didn’t bother calling each other anymore. It had become even harder to tell what they were and what they were not—infinity, disorder, silence. A little bit of everything and a little bit of nothing, a taste of chaos.

“What are we going to do with him?” Nathaniel asked in a whisper. He didn’t really care about waking Kevin up at this point, but he was too tired to bother raising his voice.

“There’s nothing to do,” was Jean’s wise response. Nathaniel ignored it in a haughty snort.

“Perhaps because he’s a desperate case, yes. Isn’t he?”

“Perhaps,” Jean agreed. “But then so are you.”

That got Nathaniel’s attention and they stared each other down in silence. It wasn’t conflict, it was truth, and they both knew it. Nathaniel was way past denying its nature, he’d done too much. He’d drawn too much blood, broken too many bones.

“I thought opposites attracted.” 

“You’re different sorts,” he was told. “But he’ll follow you if you only ask.”

Nathaniel snorted again, distrust reeking in the air. He didn’t believe a single second Kevin would—yes, they had something words couldn’t explain, something nobody could quite name or point at. It was there, subtle, unspoken, like a truth everyone is ever past questioning. There was no point in lingering on it. To the members of the gang, it was as familiar as a bad habit or a ritual of sorts—to those who knew them only by name and from a distance, the three of them were a strange sort, sticking together no matter what and despite their differences, fighting dangerously but ready to kill for one another. No one had been able to categorize this much devotion, this much possessiveness; nobody could understand. Oh, he had heard them, the rumors: some said the three of them were dating, some even said they had made blood oaths and thus couldn’t stray away from one another. He’d laugh at them with hooded eyes, considering every sin, accepting it. There was no such thing as dating, no blood oath—it was so much more and they knew there were no words for it.

Still, he didn’t think someone like Kevin could practice the level of destruction he easily abandoned himself to. That he’d tolerate, perhaps; but take part, hardly so. It was saddening, at times, but he’d learned to accept the possibility of Kevin never being like him—like them. Jean, too, had something dark and terrible to him, but he seemed to be the only one to sense it. Nathaniel considered it privilege, cherishing it like a secret nobody could pry from his bloody hands.

Not if they begged.

“I shouldn’t have to ask,” he snapped.

He got up, decided to get out for a cigarette or perhaps settle in the library to pretend he had something better to do than this. Jean caught his wrist on the way, in a murmur, in a prayer, and Nathaniel’s eyes instantly slid down to where Jean’s slender fingers were wrapped around his flesh. It was a fascinating thing, really, but he stared long enough for Jean to get the message and let him go.

“Never mind.”

“Don’t search for me.” 

They shared one last look, somewhere between knowledge and coldness, habit more than aggression for sure. Then Nathaniel was gone, and Jean didn’t call for him.

 

* * *

 

Standing on the steps of the Law building, they looked like watch dogs ready to arm. From the outside, the Law building looked like a Roman temple, chilling in its splendor, a pristine white that Lydia had come to appreciate. There, in the endless stairs and leaning against huge pillars, they looked like they owned it all.

And perhaps was it the case, really.

At least Riko did—and he knew it.

“Why are we here, already?” he dragged, bored beyond belief, earning a distracted laughter from Richard. 

As though on cue, Lydia walked down the stairs and stopped ahead of them, purse slung up her forearm and thick black sunglasses surely hiding satisfied once-overs. 

“It’s always a pleasure to see all of my boys waiting for me,” she smiled wide, exaggerating every word. Lydia had always acted like a Queen because she knew she could, and they let her. She was the only girl who had earned their interest so far, the only one they’d ever wait for. “My morning has been fabulous. Oh, they handed the exam back and guess who managed it first? You’re sleeping on it. Wake up, you’re way too lucky to have me around. How was yours anyways?” she asked, conversation, though it was a little too cheerful to be sincere. 

She knew before they even responded, half of the boys drowning her in loud complaints, the other sighing in fatigue. All their classes had been long, tedious, and Lydia was very well aware—she wouldn’t have asked, otherwise. Sometimes Nathaniel wondered why they stuck around her when her prime amusement seemed to rely on causing annoyance, discomfort and unease; but then again, they were all here for a reason. 

“Instead of blabbering like uninteresting children,” Nathaniel cut, and everyone went quiet to listen to his words. “Why wouldn’t we go ahead?”

Andrew didn’t reply but, hands deep in his pockets, went first down the stairs as Richard idly followed—Kevin, however, mumbled agreement in his breath. The rest followed, more than happy to be complete again, as they rarely went anywhere otherwise. It was pack mentality at its finest, except within the group, each and every member seemed to stand out on its own. 

Riko and Lydia held the conversation on their own on the way to the dinner hall. It was past lunchtime now, but they all had decided to wait for Lydia before going. It wasn’t quite that Lydia would have a hard time finding other people to befriend, oh, she could have anyone she wanted. It was more that they didn’t like mingling, and, that, people could tell.

To most, they were half-celebrities borne of rumors and whispers, to others, they were top-tier athletes bringing fame upon the university. They couldn’t point accusatory fingers at them when the newfound popularity of Edgar Allan’s lacrosse team was entirely their doing. Or rather—theirs, and this of Marcus Levitz, who specialized in provocation and antagonism. A monster all in black and money, skin dark as night, all ivory smiles and giggling girls. Marcus Levitz was never alone, and he always seemed to be on Riko’s way.

“Look who’s there,” Andrew chanted from the side as they stood by their usual table.

Lydia turned around and pulled on her sunglasses before giving a loud sigh of disgust. Riko and Nathaniel followed in the same breath, face dark with what they already guessed to be Marcus—and Jean materialized at Nathaniel’s sides like magic. The rest looked nonchalant as could be, out of habit more than anything, but Kevin averted his eyes, fuming in silence. 

There, opposite of them, Marcus and his clique were all sprawled in comfortable seats, pushing empty plates asides and idly scrolling on their smartphones. None were talking, and none had yet noticed their presence, but Nathaniel preferred them riled up than this disappointingly mundane.

It was hard to tell who hated Marcus the most, though most bets were set on Riko. When Jean had always seemed to be Nathaniel’s nemesis, it seemed that Marcus Levitz was Riko’s. 

He didn’t mind: with a predatory smile, Riko brushed it off and sat down. This was a war to fight on a lacrosse field and he knew it. So did Nathaniel, even though he grabbed a meat knife and twirled it between his fingers before Jean’s and Andrew’s attentive gazes. They knew he wouldn’t do anything so early in the day, but the way he spied Marcus’s every move in hope for something to trigger a fight served more as a threat than the knife could ever. 

Before he could use it, however, Nathaniel got bored and planted it in the table. Riko frowned but said nothing, and he heard a distinct laugh from Lydia’s side. 

“So,” Nathaniel sang as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table and cradled his chin with his hands. “What’s the plan for today? I’m feeling inspired.”

“Inspired, from you, could mean anything,” Richard noted. 

“Bad thing?” he asked, voice a little colder than it should have been—and Richard took the cue to backpedal out of the exchange. It was going south, or, at least, where Nathaniel would use every reason given to turn it against him and strike. Whether it would be literal or figurative, nobody could ever tell until it happened.

“Who knows with you,” Riko said instead. They held each other’s gaze in silent defiance, but it didn’t go much further than this. It rarely ever did. 

“You’re acting like I’m the troublemaker around here,” Nathaniel falsely laughed as he reached for purple grapes and slowly pulled one out. “Are you that quick to forget who made us leave the Obelisk when fun was only getting started?” 

It was easy to feel Jean’s knowing eyes on him, then, but he didn’t return it. It would have been too effortless. He wanted Jean to beg, he wanted Jean to stay on the edge until he’d feel like falling was the only way out. On the other side of the round table, Richard didn’t miss the exchange, eyes wise but alert, a little too quick to pick up on all of their tricks and had habits. Befriend the gang made it a mandatory side effect and Richard couldn’t avoid it, not even when it came to Jean and Nathaniel—especially not then.

“I didn’t do anything,” Kevin let out in annoyance.

“Sure,” Lydia cackled at his sides.

“I think it looks pretty on you,” Nathaniel broke with a dangerous smile, and Kevin looked up instantly. “Suits you well. Shall we name you Ares from now on?” It was hard to decrypt whatever was in his eyes, harder even to fathom was went through Nathaniel’s mind, but Kevin was willing to try. Before he could get an idea, though, Riko joined in again.

“Such a shame we didn’t go any further.” 

The tone was dangerous, but nobody bothered take it as such. Riko and Kevin were brothers, and as far as they knew, messed up families was all they had ever known. That Riko and Kevin didn’t get along was an indefinite statement, changing from time to time, never for too long. One day they were inseparable, the following, their greatest enemies. At least it made up for entertainment, though there was no doubt as to whose side Nathaniel would take if things ever got ugly. What had happened at the Obelisk wasn’t ugly—it was routine, and a rather inconvenient one. Chaos was allowed within these walls, where no one could see, but outside fights had to be managed before they could bring the police on the grounds. 

If anything, Nathaniel knew they had been stupid to fight outside the nightclub, but then again, it must have been, as all things they ever did, too spontaneous to plan this.

“Hold that thought,” Kevin laughed—a bitter, terrible thing that resembled Nathaniel’s.

“Whenever you want.” 

“Shut up,” Jean intervened. It was nonchalant, disinterested; bored at best. A few heads turned to him, as though waiting for more, but he only lightly pushed around with a fork a grape Nathaniel had childishly put in the middle of Jean’s empty plate. 

It took a minute or so before anyone spoke up again. Andrew and Lydia were already on their phones, waiting for the moment they would all get up and pick up their food at the stands, and Richard looked around the table, arms crossed, like a well-behaved kid at an adult’s dinner. 

“Next time we’re out, please wait for at least two in the morning before getting us kicked out,” Andrew mocked. “Pretty pathetic timing there.” 

“Thank you for intervening,” Riko rushed to say then, as though he had only remembered that detail. “A minute longer and Kevin would have been pretty useless on a lacrosse field.” 

Both Nathaniel and Lydia cackled, but Kevin’s face only darkened with displeasure.

“It would be wiser for you to shut up, now,” he advised. 

“For you?” Riko teased.

“For you,” Kevin corrected. “For each word you pronounce, I’m holding a count. How many hits now?”

Riko’s face went livid for a second, holding Kevin’s proud gaze in defiance—then slowly, very slowly rising his chin. 

“Not now,” Nathaniel cut them off before they could get further again. Jean and Lydia glanced at him from their seats, surprised it’d be him to bring peace to the table when he thrived on chaos, but it was understandable: Nathaniel didn’t like it when Riko touched Kevin, be it for words or for fists, and childish feuds could only serve the purpose of distraction for so long.

Riko didn’t even have time to try and argue—already, Raj, the Nepali transfer student on their lacrosse lineup, slid in one free chair and energetically hit Richard’s torso with the back of his hands. “Guys, oh, guys,” he called, and everyone frowned the new arrival. Riko opened his mouth to tell him to leave, but once more Raj cut him off mid-thought. “Look, it’s the police. What do you think they’re doing here?” 

In one united motion they all turned to where they had come from, where they caught a glimpse of police uniforms and Tetsuji Moriyama standing in the entrance hall. 

“They’re still there,” Jean commented in a whisper, and though it was obvious, it held more than the simple information to it. It was anxious, thoughtful, mind going a two hundred miles an hour. 

Nathaniel felt like asking if they were here for them, but Raj was still sitting between Richard and Riko, brows arched in surprise and eyes captivated. Surely, he wasn’t ready for their secrets, and he couldn’t be trusted. Nathaniel tried to tell himself they hadn’t killed anyone and turned around; but then Jean was staring at him, heavy with meaning, and he could only snort. 

“Don’t make this face, Jean. Haughty elegance looks better on you than sheer distress ever could.” Then, as he looked at Raj straight in the eye: “Overdoses happen.” 

 

* * *

 

Nathaniel ground his cigarette in the glass ashtray and pulled another one out of his pack. Jean followed the motion from afar, and Nathaniel didn’t bother look up before pulling another one. He discarded the packet and slid one in between his lips, Jean getting up without being asked. He stood by the armchair and bent down, face a little closer than it should have been but unable to find himself to care. Nathaniel lodged the other cigarette between Jean’s lips in his turn and looked down as they wrapped around the stick more firmly. It was fascinating, especially from up close, and Nathaniel couldn’t look away. 

“Fire,” Jean said.

At that they shared a glance, and Nathaniel didn’t avert his eyes when he lit his cigarette up. He could have just that easily done the same with Jean’s afterwards, but, instead, he came closer and lit it up with his own. It was an odd, intimate thing to do, one of many things they had done too many times before. They should have gotten used to it, yet Nathaniel couldn’t quite shake the indescribable amusement that came with it, doing it all over again.

Jean straightened up as he took a drag without hands, then let his fingertips brush against Nathaniel’s knee when he left. Nathaniel watched him go back to his own seat, then glanced in Kevin’s direction, only half-surprised to catch him staring. Kevin looked away instantly, but the smile on Nathaniel screamed satisfaction. Jean sensed it, too, grabbing the cigarette between slender fingers, eyes as possessive as they usually were. The silent words said: it’s a matter of time. Their creeping smiles: let him simmer until he breaks. 

All over the room around them, as though in another world, everyone seemed busy enough not to notice. It wasn’t like they needed to: forms of closeness between Jean and Nathaniel were too usual, as they had been long before they even kissed. That, nobody could know, however—except Richard and Kevin. Neither seemed ready to bring it up, not that Jean or Nathaniel cared, and not that it would make a difference. They didn’t need the group’s approbation to do these things and they knew it. Instead everyone fell in line behind them and Riko—if anything, Jean and Nathaniel would be unstoppable.

They would be fear, devastation, debauchery. Feasting and taking and laughing.

“This is boring,” Richard sighed as he rubbed his eyes. A thick and heavy old book was resting in his lap, probably something he had to go through for a paper. Nathaniel didn’t really care. 

“The price of intelligence, Richard, the price of intelligence,” chanted Lydia from the other side of the room, where she was casually holding a small one. He doubted it was for anything but for fun. Lydia would always read what the curriculum required before it was even needed, and spend the rest of her semesters doing whatever she pleased. It wasn’t organization—it was genius. Nobody here could find the same level of dedication, not even Kevin, who preferred to reach everything in time to keep the information fresh in his memory. It was easy to forget all of them were brilliant, long used to being first in everything they tried. That they stuck together meant they entertained their standards—but it also meant they were in constant competition with one another, and Nathaniel could only thank the fact they didn’t study the same things. That they were friends, if they ever were, never meant they would go easy on each other—and it certainly didn’t mean pity.

They had none.

“You are my worst enemy,” Richard sighed again.

“I think that book might be,” she defended. 

“Distractions?” he pleaded—and Nathaniel jumped in, nonchalant.

“The headmaster is hosting a gala tomorrow night. He expects us to attend.” 

“Us?” Andrew echoed, because he knew the answer already.

The small library went quiet as they all waited for Nathaniel. “Riko, Kevin and I.” Richard nodded, understanding, but Nathaniel added without a glance: “You’re coming.” 

The words belonged to no one in particular, and as Jean took a drag, he allowed himself to stare at Nathaniel from afar. Indeed, the three of them rarely ever went to these kinds of events alone, preferring to be surrounded by their owns when everyone seemed to be a stranger. And they were, though not to their names—the Moriyamas, Days and Wesninskis never ceased to make conversations running. Perhaps was that why Tetsuji always insisted on their presence; they’d attract people there whether they realized it or not. 

Celebrities of sorts, curses when summoning the wrong kind. Names like the Wesninskis’ had to be carefully thrown around, that much they knew. Nathaniel had never been able to tell exactly why his group had always quietly obeyed, so unquestioningly fell behind—at first, he had thought it might be his father’s reputation. It couldn’t have possibly reached their ears if it wasn’t for Riko and Kevin’s presence: to the public eye, the Moriyamas and the Wesninskis were business associates. Past family ties and ‘business’ trades, only the gang knew about what sort of things they were up to—what sort of things Nathaniel would someday inherit. 

“Does that mean we’re dressing up nicely?” Lydia said after a while.

“No other way,” Kevin confirmed. He always talked about these things like he didn’t care, but Nathaniel could see past the façade—his anxiety had never been a good ally for public relationships, and, though Kevin had mastered the art of pleasing strangers, the aftermath of it had always been up to Jean and Nathaniel to fix. He figured Kevin would sleep in their bed, Tuesday night.

“I forbid you to bring Nina up,” Riko announced as he went around, a hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of scotch. This private office, which served as a personal library, was one of the many rooms in Castle Evermore that were the Headmaster’s property only—but Riko and his brothers, being family, had straight access to all things forbidden. This meant access to Tetsuji’s whisky, too, and none of them could possibly complain about that. 

It was late in the afternoon to even drink, of course, but rich people didn’t have hours. Nathaniel had always loved this life: hedonistic, devoid of rules but appearances, an endless cycle of pleasure and guilt and pleasure. He, who didn’t have any guilt, claimed the best of it.

“Give me,” he said as Riko went past and stopped in surprise. 

Riko seemed to hesitate, then handed him the glass, its brown liquid floating at the bottom. Nathaniel twirled it in his hand and leaned closer to the rim to smell the whisky, before scrunching up his nose and giving it back. 

“No thanks.” 

Riko frowned again, but didn’t insist. Nathaniel had never been too keen on whisky anyways. He watched as Riko sat next to Jean, then everyone seemed to connect back to the conversation.

“Why would we,” Nathaniel trailed off. 

“I’m just saying. My uncle has asked too many questions as it is. Tonight is not the perfect occasion to raise his suspicions, and certainly not with all those hypocrites in the room.”

“Come on, Riko,” Jean teased with a charming smile. “Don’t talk about your peers like that. You’re made of the same stuff, aren’t you? Champagne flutes, little lies, blank laughters to fill the void.”

Riko took the bait, as Jean knew he would, and Nathaniel’s smile was slow and satisfied. “I’m not a hypocrite. If you’re problematic, I will tell you. I’d never bother keeping it to myself.”

“Oh, that we know,” Lydia said in half a sigh.

“Are we problematic, Riko?” Nathaniel asked then—and though it seemed like a banal question, it was more than that and they knew it. It was defiance, perhaps, or pointing at something terrible nobody had wanted to address. That they were monsters, or mere humans, had yet to be discussed.

“You are the worst,” Riko decided.

 

* * *

 

Tetsuji Moriyama and Kayleigh Day once had been one of the best lacrosse players the country had yet to offer. Young, rich, full of charisma and violence, they’d ruled the field for as long as they could, nabbing medal after medal, title after title. Years later, when Kevin’s mother died in a tragic car accident that made the sport news’ front page for days, Tetsuji made the acquisition of Edgar Allan University—and made it his own kingdom. Both had frequented the school in their young years, and Tetsuji made it a point to continue the legacy by training the best lacrosse players; champions, beasts, brutal creations of speed and aggression. He had trained the first lineup for years before standing down, for administrative work required too much time. Instead, he made one of the best college lacrosse trainers come all the way from England and take over the reins of the Edgar Allan Ravens. It was honor, and it was the work of a lifetime, and since then nobody had ever been able to dethrone the Ravens.

“Fuck him,” Nathaniel mumbled in his breath. It earned a half-amused look from Jean and one, a little more serious, from Kevin, as the three of them stood on the sidelines of the field. 

They were breathless from their scrimmage, hanging onto their water bottles like their lives depended on it. Jean, a solid tower of strength and wisdom, looked in between the two as though trying to decide when their next fight would erupt. For now, however, it seemed Nathaniel was more bugged by Riko’s bossing around than Kevin’s existence.

“He’s the captain,” Jean replied.

“Fuck him,” Nathaniel repeated, a little slower, as he stared at Jean straight in the eye. 

“I thought you were used to it, by now,” Kevin commented with distraction, peeping at Riko. He was a few feet away, smirking at Marcus, and it was only a matter of time before one of them would snap. That was, if Nathaniel didn’t snap before. 

“One could never.” Nathaniel shook his head and they all stared as Riko ran the length of the field to go grab his own water bottle. “Why did they name him captain already?” he asked, but before anyone could answer, his mouth cut into a wide, terrible slit. “Oh, right. Privilege. That he’s Tetsuji’s nephew shouldn’t grant him the right to take the lead.” 

“It shouldn’t,” Kevin agreed. “But he’s good. And he’s led us to championships last year, hasn’t he?” 

That, Nathaniel couldn’t deny even though he would have wanted to. He could only stare Kevin down and hope he’d choke on these words, never daring pronouncing them to his face again.

“He’s good, yes. But you are better,” Jean interrupted before it could go south. 

Both Kevin and Nathaniel looked up in surprise, trying to decide who he was talking to. It was both, and they knew it—Jean was one proud, intricate thing, and he wasn’t afraid to put them on a pedestal. Jean seemed naturally gifted, almost effortlessly so, but he had strengths Nathaniel didn’t have. His height, for starters; and a self-control he could only dream of. This made their defense line a versatile, diverse and curious thing. Nathaniel had lost count how many times he’d been told he and Jean were the perfect match: one born for violence, the other born for control. The balance was perfect, elegant, and most importantly, unbreakable. 

Despite Jean’s skills, however, and despite Riko’s evident competence, it could never be denied that Nathaniel and Kevin had been made for this sport. No matter how hard the others tried, no matter how ruthless they were, they had never been able to one up either—not Kevin’s chilling precision, and certainly not Nathaniel’s exquisite violence. Where Kevin was a champion, Nathaniel was a leader, even as far back as the defense line.

They didn’t need to return the compliment. Too many times now they had had this short exchange, and not once had they doubted the importance of each other’s presence on the field. They had earned their starting positions and they knew it. Even as second-years. Even as troublemakers.

“Five minutes!” the coach yelled from the bleachers, and Kevin idly watched him gather a bucket of lacrosse balls. He could have helped, but it was far easier to stay there with the two of them: where he  undeniably belonged. Sometimes, it seemed to him that, even though he wasn’t harmless himself, Jean and Nathaniel served as bodyguards of sorts—protecting Kevin at all costs, from their everyday life to their nightly escapades, to their games against opponent teams. Both were defenders, standing around Andrew’s goal zone to ensure nobody would go past them. And nobody would. 

No matter what, it was all but rare to see them leave their positions to go out of their way and clear the path for Kevin. An opponent brushing a little too close; opponent defenders getting a little too rough; players crowding up around him—and they were here, mercilessly sending bodies down to the ground. 

Once, Nathaniel had took it upon himself to beat a player until he couldn’t get up anymore. He got carded for it, and coaches blamed his innate taste for violence. The three of them knew it had only been about avenging whoever granted themselves the right to lay a hand on Kevin—be it with a racquet or a playful bodycheck. They’d never brought it up.

This was one of the things this team had never been able to forget, making it one of the stories they would cheerfully offer to girls on post-game parties. This was also one of the reasons why nobody ever questioned Nathaniel’s efficiency on a field, why many would have liked him as a captain, and why Kevin Day hadn’t spent one day feeling exposed and unsafe. Not as long as Nathaniel breathed.

“What about Raj,” Kevin brought up as Raj ran past them to go back inside. 

“He’s valuable,” Nathaniel said as he turned and watched him disappear. 

“This is not what he asked,” was Jean’s soft interruption. He looked at Jean, then at Kevin, searching for a confirmation that never came. Kevin seemed terrified to say the words.

“What could we do anyways? He didn’t hear a thing.” 

“Not this time,” Kevin gloomily pointed out. “It’s a matter of time before he senses something is wrong. As polite and playful as he is, he would never bring it up and we would never know he knows, too.” 

Jean looked at the distance, chin up and arms crossed, pondering. Nathaniel, on the other hand, turned again, as though he could see Raj through the walls of the stadium. 

“I don’t see the problem. He would never dare apprise the authorities. Not for that,” Jean decided.

“Jean is right. Raj is our friend of sorts, but he’s not untouchable. He has empathy. And fear.” 

Kevin slowly shook his head, a soft laugher coming out as he disapproved. 

“You are crazy. Both of you.” 

They didn’t try to deny it.

“Think about it,” Jean said. “If he’s one of us, how could he betray us? Once he’s in, he’s part of the crime whether he wants it or not. He’ll know too much to try and sell the gang out. If he does, he’ll get locked up with the rest of us.” 

Nathaniel frowned as he took the words in, then absentmindedly nodded. “It’s less dangerous than letting him roam around us here and there. That way we’ll have an eye on him.” 

“And a greater impact,” Jean added as Raj came out of the lockers, an arm before his mouth to wipe the water off. Jean didn’t blink when he followed him to the bleachers, until he was far enough to go on. “He’s a good defensive dealer. Under our wing, he’ll be great.” 

Kevin frowned, distrustful; it’d always been hard to say no when it came to lacrosse. It was Kevin’s priority, the thing above all else, his prime motive for everything he ever undertook. It was true, that they could make Raj a better player—that they could strength the Ravens even more than they already did. Raj, if he was part of them, would become a weapon in his turn. It was one of the consequences of befriending all of them—long exposure to perfection, to elegance, to blind brutality. They could make him great.

“So what do you suggest?” Kevin tried, though displeasure could be read on his features.

“We make him part of us,” Jean said.

“Are we asking Riko for this?” Kevin tried again.

“He’s not the boss of me,” Nathaniel smiled. It was beautiful, dangerous thing, and Kevin hated himself for staring at it. He loathed it just as much—the famous trademark of the Wesninski’s untameable tempers. They belonged to no one, they would always say. To their passions, only; pleasure, violence, all urges they never bothered repress. “He might be the captain, but this is beyond lacrosse. It’s about the gang.” 

Jean didn’t say a thing, but his silence was more agreement than words ever could be. That, Kevin knew very well, and he looked between them with a half-repressed wince. 

“I hate you.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Nathaniel reassured with a smile. This time he uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, closer again, until their breaths ricocheted against one another’s. 

Nobody talked after that, silence only broken by loud conversations and bits of laughters. Jean stood there, a step away, staring at them with the sheer intensity of fascination. That’s what they were—fascinating. 

Kevin repressed the urge to push Nathaniel away, losing all anger each passing second spent there breathing Nathaniel’s air. He smelled of expensive cologne and sweat, and Kevin looked down at his sticky shirt as though to escape his eyes. Nathaniel’s eyes were terrible things, yes—chilly, deep, scrutinizing things that never seemed to miss any detail. Kevin felt as though breathing would give him away; for what, he didn’t know.

From afar, it was safe to assume they were fighting again—without words, a silent display of domination they were too eager to win. From here, however, all heavy breaths and dizzying proximity, it was a whole other fight.

“Fuck,” Jean growled as he looked away. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself in check, and perhaps Nathaniel knew it, because his smile only grew wider at the word. 

It seemed to bring Kevin back to reality, and, cheeks red from both the effort and the confrontation, he gave them both a quick, bitter glance before stepping backwards. When he turned away, he didn’t look back, and Nathaniel slowly drifted back to Jean.

“What was that?” Jean asked.

“The next step.” 

“Is he going to masturbate in the locker room, you think?”

Nathaniel’s laughter was crystal clear, a sharp mixture of amusement and bitterness. “He doesn’t deserve our help.” That was a lie, but neither addressed it.

 

* * *

 

“Do you know what’s at stake Friday night?” 

All listened to the Coach, getting their breathing back in check and wiping the sweat off their foreheads. Lydia was smiling, still riding the high of adrenaline; exchanging amused glances with Nathaniel from the other side of the circle. 

“Victory,” Riko frowned, as though the question was senseless.

“More than that,” the Coach corrected. “It’s about starting this year as champions. You’ve earned that title—now it’s up to you to keep it, and to be willing to do anything in order to do so. Do you think you can do that?”

Lydia laughed, eyes playful. “Coach, you scared me for a minute. I thought that’d been dealt with already.” 

Two or three boys cackled in agreement, but the rest stared at the Coach for their reaction. She was a tall, lean lady, hair ginger and eyes dark, and Nathaniel had always thought she radiated power more than any other coach he’d ever had. She was impressive, to say the least, competitive as could be, proud and fearless, but her hour of glory had ended. It didn’t mean that her players didn’t listen to her, however, and when they did, they did so entirely, granting her all their attention and all their esteem.

“And I thought we’d made it clear now that you fools need to be told everything twice,” she replied.

Lydia smiled at the answer, and Nathaniel leaned on it racquet. 

“Good job today. Don’t forget what I’ve told you about fouls and red cards; there’ll be plenty on Friday. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

They didn’t need to be told more than that, and all leaned forward to chant ‘Ravens’ in unison. They instantly spread out like ants after that, and their Coach drifted back to the bleachers, holding her notes in a hand and her whistle in another. The only ones who didn’t part right away were them, all there, beaming with pride for the game they all considered triumph already. 

It was getting chilly this late October, but the aftermaths of lacrosse practice were always too sweaty and exhausted to notice it. 

“We could have done better,” Kevin said as soon as silence came back.

“That’ll be enough,” Jean assured. 

“For Friday, perhaps; but this is the beginning of the season and we must honor the school,” Riko intervened. 

Nathaniel rolled his eyes so far back into his heads Jean caught it immediately. The ever so slight, subtle smile he gave him was enough agreement. Neither cared that much about the school—all they ever cared about were the adrenaline they got when they played, and that the gang would be safe no matter what. The rest, they couldn’t care less. Nathaniel didn’t want to bring victory to Edgar Allan, no matter how proud he was of it; he wanted to win for himself, he wanted to be so fierce nobody would ever what role he’d held in this triumph.

“What about tonight?” Richard asked, and his eyes wandered to Nathaniel’s direction before he could realize it. Nathaniel looked up instantly, but Richard averted his eyes in the same breath. He didn’t take them off the grass until he didn’t feel Nathaniel’s on him anymore.

“At eight before Castle Evermore. They’re hosting it in the ball room,” Kevin informed. The ball room was Castle Evermore’s enormous reception hall, a giant, luxurious thing of gold and glass and noble wood, of mirrors and chandeliers. 

Andrew, who looked bored by their pompous reception already, let out a dramatic sigh that got Riko’s attention. Before he could start a fight, however, Jean intervened.

“Try not to be late.” 

Lydia looked up, ready to protest—but it was Kevin and Riko who glared at Jean instead, knowing fully the mockery was theirs. Nathaniel stepped aside and cackled as he waited for Jean, and perhaps did he even pretend not to feel the weight of Kevin’s gaze on him as the two of them headed to the lockers.

 

* * *

 

With the orchestra, the hundreds of hosts all dressed up in expensive gowns, and the many shiny cars parked all long the endless alleyway, this was probably one of the greatest receptions Edgar Allan had ever given. 

It took place in Castle Evermore, or, in other words, the Headmaster’s residence—a wide and impressive castle four hundred foot away from the rest of the campus. This was where Riko and Kevin had always lived, a place of luxury, of knowledge, of excess. It had nothing on Richard’s royal palace, and didn’t hold the natural sleekness of Lydia’s modern villa, but there was something indescribable there, something that smelled like dusty old books and expensive marble sculptures—something like home. 

Nathaniel never missed an opportunity to go there. Having spent more time with the Moriyamas than he had ever with his family, Tetsuji considered him as a son, too, in the detached, cold and distant way he did Riko and Kevin. This meant a privilege access to the building, and countless nights spent in Riko and Kevin’s room instead of the loud, restless dorms of Edgar Allan’s neighbouring campus. It only took a minute to go from there to here, but it was a whole another world: suddenly, there were private rooms where the gang could gather in peace, there were pricey wine bottles to steal and drink behind the Headmaster’s back, and unlimited access to all things Castle Evermore offered. 

That he, Kevin and Riko served as visual, concrete representatives of the Moriyamas’ wealth and Edgar Allan University’s greatness should have been a source of anger and resentment, but Nathaniel took pride in it, like he did many things. He liked the praise, the ignorant yet cautious stares he provoked, and how easy it was for him to clear his path within a crowd. And, as Nathaniel always did, he never went anywhere without Jean.

“Splendid,” Jean commented as he slid his hands inside his slacks’ pockets. It was an black, beautiful suit, and Nathaniel’s eyes couldn’t help but linger on it once again. Rich people never seemed to wear the same party gown twice; but Jean had always managed to look more and more elegant each event they’d attend. Nathaniel couldn’t understand it, but he wasn’t going to complain, either. 

“Déjà vu,” Nathaniel outbid. He’d seen it all, whereas Jean had always known the young side of wealth—cocaine parties and luxurious villas, beautiful girls, ridiculous amounts of alcohols. Receptions like tonight were a different kind, one where strange faces smiled no matter what, empty and false, where formal words made their impression easily as they slid through conversations—key words were money and scandal, and Nathaniel had always had both.

He almost deplored the fact that none of them knew the truth about the Wesninskis. Oh, they were only fed easy truths, lightweight lies that were easy to maintain. Sometimes he looked over the crowd and imagined what it would feel like, to have all these fools understand how much of a danger he was. It was thrilling.

“So, when are we doing this again?” he asked.

Jean side-eyed him, surprised by the question; but a soft, mocking smile was quick to follow. 

“Whenever.” 

He knew exactly what Nathaniel was talking about. It was the two of them, the kisses they had shared, the overwhelming urge they had to bring each other a little closer. It was outstanding they had taken this long to make a move when they had spent months hovering each other like predatory eagles. They had belonged to each other the day they’d met, only, it had taken wars and wars to realize it. Now, it was acknowledged truth, it was a universal statement, unquestioned. 

“What’s this,” Nathaniel smiled, playful, as he grabbed the edge of Jean’s black blazer. “Slater?”

Jean smirked. “Gucci.”

“Of fucking course.” 

“Pump the brakes,” Jean mocked, and he rested an elbow on the marble guardrail as he turned to him. “How bad do you want me?” 

The smile the surprise had brutally wiped off Nathaniel’s face slowly came back, second after second, eyes glinting with lust and delight. 

“To death,” he said.

Up above the stars as they towered the entire room from the open second floor, they could have easily yielded to their urge to kiss. It wasn’t safe, but it was private enough, and nobody would dare interrupt them anyway. Still, Nathaniel wanted more and he knew it.

“If the headmaster sees me missing before his speech, he’ll slice my throat.” He gave Jean a slow once-over, then looked back at the crowd underneath them, observing the countless little ants throwing their heads back in empty laughters as they held their Champagne flutes in their right hand. “Tankers in the toilets and then we’re out of here,” he decided, because it seemed like a reasonable middle-ground.

“What about Kevin?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “He’s not ready. And he’ll be mad if he knows what we’re up to.” 

“Hitting the slopes in the restroom?” he mocked.

“Fucking in your car,” Nathaniel corrected—and it was so serious, so very honest it took Jean’s breath away. 

Jean stared, agape, as he took the words in and processed them. Then he turned back to the crowd with a frowning, observing Lydia and Richard arguing from up above to chase the mental picture off his mind. It was right there, tickling the back of his neck, growing in his stomach like a bubble that needed to be popped open. An obsession of sorts—that’s what Nathaniel was.

“You drive me mad,” he growled.

Nathaniel peered but didn’t mock. It was easy to be genuine with Jean, to go from mindless amusement to serious conversations. He wondered what Jean would look like beating someone to death. Cold, possibly, cold and detached, observing from afar like he was now. Beautiful, most likely; dangerous, lethal. He didn’t want Jean any other way.

Oh, what a lie. He would take Jean no matter how pious, no matter how sinful. He would want him still, dreams burning for him only. Waiting, waiting—longing with the need to be touched, to be eaten raw.

“I’ll believe that’s a good thing,” he said as he searched for Kevin in the crowd.

“Perhaps not,” Jean admitted, resting his other elbow on the edge. “I would do it all for you. Monstrous things.” 

“And that’s not a good thing?” he genuinely asked, curious.

“For those terrified to lose control, I assume not.” 

“Are you that terrified to lose control?” 

It was an odd conversation, without a glance, both avoiding contact as they didn’t quite know what they would do otherwise. Kiss—lose control. Something along those lines.

“Who knows who I am when I let my guard down,” Jean said. “We’re all playing pretend until we snap and forget to keep it in check. None of us are supposed to be that chained, that constrained, yet we all accept it for the greater good.” 

“I don’t believe in the greater good,” Nathaniel said, thoughtful.

“I know.” Jean didn’t say whether he believed in it or not—chances were he didn’t, either.

After a short while, a minute, perhaps, Nathaniel leaned on his left elbow and turned to Jean, sliding closer as he did. “I want to see it.” 

“What?” 

“I want to know who you are when you let your guard down.” 

Jean stared and Nathaniel stared back, swallowing one another in their bottomless gaze. They took it all in; the desire, the danger, all the things they didn’t say. He believed Nathaniel—no because he never doubted him in the first place, but because he knew only Nathaniel wouldn’t flinch if he ever came face to face with who Jean really was. The raw, authentic part of his soul, one without restraint, without rules. Chaos as it was meant to be. 

It was relieving, knowing there would be someone to hold him then. Someone who would never be afraid—who wouldn’t look away. A disaster he might be, but he could thrive in peace, all but judged, loved in every bit, in every minuscule piece of flesh and soul. Nathaniel would have him whole.

He wondered if Kevin would, too. But Kevin—that was a talk for another day. As they had said, he wasn’t ready yet, and he certainly wasn’t ready for that.

“I want to be the only one to know who you are,” Nathaniel went on. In one glance, they made it clear Kevin was omitted from all calculation—he was the unpredictable factor of it all, something they put aside until maturation. Kevin was neither here nor there; he was the in-between, unquestionable. 

“I wouldn’t give my secrets to anyone else.” 

“Secrets,” Nathaniel repeated with a smirk. “What secrets?”

Jean smirked in his turn. “You, for starters.”

“Am I that much of a secret? They never see us part. I bet they all wonder what we do in the dark.” 

“What do we do in the dark?” Jean asked—and it was a dare, it was provocation. He could sense it in the way Jean looked at the crowd, reeking satisfaction as he waited for the answer.

“Everything.” 

They looked at each other again, heavy with meaning. It took a great deal of self-discipline for Jean to keep himself from closing the gap between them. Nathaniel felt it, grin growing sharper in visible contentment. 

“This is going to be a long, long night,” Jean sighed as he glanced at the stage, Tetsuji standing in the middle of it with a micro in hand. 

In agreement, or, perhaps, in encouragement, Nathaniel leaned over the border and pressed his shoulder against Jean’s. They didn’t talk after that, waiting for Tetsuji to make his speech and thank his guests for attending the event. It was a charity project, most likely—Nathaniel didn’t even know. He’d stopped informing himself countless event ago. He preferred the bright side of it: the elegant suits, the perfumes, the endless nights spent at Jean’s and Kevin’s side. 

They rushed to the restroom after Tetsuji’s speech, taking advantage of the loud applause to disappear from public sight. Jean locked the door from the inside as Nathaniel kicked every stable to ensure they were alone, and both stood by the counter as Nathaniel slid a golden cigar case. It was his father, but Nathaniel didn’t smoke cigars more than that—instead, he hopped it open and grabbed the clean packet, full to the opening of pristine white powder. 

“We should bring Raj to the Obelisk next Friday.” 

“Good idea,” Nathaniel agreed as he opened the packet and poured some on the counter, right after Jean wiped it clean with a tissue. “Money,” he said as he held an open palm, and Jean took his black wallet out of his pocket to hand Nathaniel a hundred dollar bill and a credit card—ones of many.

He leaned against the door, legs crossed, as he waited for Nathaniel to prepare the lines of cocaine. From here, they could hear the music, slightly more fitting than the orchestra they had hired for the first part. Jean figured it was the moment they would cease to pretend and finally enjoy the night for all it was—free alcohol and room to dance on six hundred dollars high heels. They probably weren’t going to be the only ones to lock themselves up in the restroom to align their drugs, and they knew it. 

Nathaniel didn’t rush for all that, even when his hands did the circus on their own. It was habit, muscle memory; the somber proof he had abandoned himself to these practices a long time ago.

“When did you first fall into that?” Nathaniel asked, distracted, as he used what was left to make a third line. 

“Fifteen,” Jean replied.

“Fifteen,” he echoed in surprise. “That’s early.”

Jean didn’t comment on that. “There aren’t many things to do when your family aims for perfection and you lack ways to find it.” 

That, Nathaniel could understand. He had never been brought up in order to be perfect—he had been brought up to be violent, and terrifying, and merciless—and that was exactly what he was. They had evolved in different circles until last year, and sometimes he could catch a clear glimpse of the person Jean used to be. 

The perfect French golden boy, overflowing with money, kissing girls and boys at the same time in chic villas and ethereal swimming pools. A disaster from modern times, drowning in cocaine and admiration, twisting people’s lives with a flick of his fingers and a bunch of lies. Jean had always mastered the art of manipulation, he knew; but he only had ever been wise and detached since he had been enrolled here. It wasn’t that he had buried his old self—things were simply different, and Nathaniel knew this façade was the best way Jean could have possibly found to tamper with people’s morals and minds and deplorable gullibility. 

Oh, he seemed to be the reasonable one of the group—but Jean was a genius. That was exactly what he wanted others to think.

It made Nathaniel smile for no reason, ceaselessly amazed by how resourceful and terrible Jean could be, against all odds. First he hated him—now he couldn’t breathe too far from Jean, scared he’d lose all oxygen, or worse, scared that he wouldn’t want to breathe at all. They fit so terribly well it was almost laughable, and Jean knew this more than anyone else. 

He had spent all his life searching for a beacon, and he had finally found it. It didn’t matter that it was all cocaine and blood—he wanted it anyways.

“First kiss?” 

“Twelve.” 

Nathaniel nodded, accepting that answer. He had only kissed at seventeen, and he hadn’t enjoyed it that much. Kissing Jean—it had been a revelation. He couldn’t help but wonder how Kevin would taste. He lost himself in the contemplation of both boys kissing one another before him, and almost sent the third line flying in a false move. 

“Need help?” Jean cackled from behind. 

“I’m okay,” he growled. “First fuck?” 

“Fifteen as well.” 

“This is getting predictable,” Nathaniel sneered as he straightened up. 

“You wish,” Jean said as he came close and took his credit card back from Nathaniel’s palm. Their skins brushed as he did, and he didn’t miss the way Nathaniel shivered. He was there, looking up at Jean like he was the universe, almost waiting for him to dictate what to do. “You first.” 

Nathaniel didn’t protest and crouched before the counter, rolling the dollar bill and bringing it close to his right nostril. He pinched his other one as Jean watched and snorted the first line clean off the counter. When he turned to offer the dollar bill, Jean was smiling. 

 

* * *

 

Bodies throbbing with life, they stumbled out of Castle Evermore and glanced outside. The immense property was only dimly lit by ground lights and street lamps, offering enough darkness for whatever they would prefer. Nathaniel was quick to decide. 

“The car, still,” he said in all seriousness.

Jean started to go for his car, where it was neatly parked in the corner with a dozen of other sport cars, but Nathaniel grabbed his wrist before he could. 

“No, not yours.” 

“Yours, then,” Jean deduced.

“I have a better idea.” 

With that, he looked behind him at the entrance, making sure no one was coming. Cars were still driving along the alleyway for places to park, and a doorman was waiting by the entrance hall to welcome all hosts, but nobody seemed to be leaving yet. 

Nathaniel let go of Jean and plunged a hand into his slacks. When he pulled it out, he had car keys in the hollow of his palm. Jean knew whose keys those were before he even asked. 

“You really do plan on making him crazy, don’t you?” Jean said.

“He needs a little push. I’m willing to give it.” 

“How come you have his keys?”

“It’s a double. He has mine too.” 

“How do you know he’ll catch us in there?” 

Nathaniel glanced above his shoulder once again. “He’ll get bored before he even realizes it. Then he’ll ditch Riko’s company and search for us. Once he’s told we already left, I assure you he’ll grab his car to make up for the frustration with a little speed.”

Though it was mainly Riko’s and Nathaniel’s hobby, Jean knew Kevin sometimes joined in. Street racing was as dangerous as it was impulsive, and those easily angered found it better than drugs. Kevin didn’t need a rival to let it out—he just needed to hit the speed limit and leave the police car way behind in his woke. Nathaniel’s plan was as spontaneous as it was smart, and both stared at the open entrance as though waiting for Kevin to appear. 

“I’m in,” Jean decided. 

“Of course you are,” Nathaniel breathed out, and they weren’t smiling anymore.

They walked to Kevin’s car in silence, and both did a pretty good job at keeping their calm until Kevin’s massive, elegant golden Bugatti drew itself in the darkness. Then, it was done—Jean pushed Nathaniel against the driver door and grabbed his collar in a tight grip. 

“Eager, huh?” Nathaniel teased with a smile Jean would have gladly wiped off his face.

“Shut up, I’m trying to keep myself in check.” 

“Is it working?”

“Poorly,” he replied. 

“Then why don’t you—” Nathaniel started to ask, but the smirk wavered as Jean pinned him against the car with all his weight. “Why don’t you let me open the door?” 

Jean stared for a moment, and neither dared move. Nathaniel was hardly even looking up, bending his neck to make up for their height difference; breathing harder with the seconds as his cheeks ignored the night’s chilling air and warmed up. 

“Hurry up,” Jean decided after a long silence—voice broken and husky, prayer coming from the bottom of his throat like choked up words. 

It made Nathaniel’s façade waver again and he swallowed, frowning at his own frustration. He didn’t comply instantly despite his own complaint, instead falling back against the car completely until his head hit the edge of the roof. He let Jean lean down for a moment, breathing into each other without ever kissing, then pushed him so brutally Jean almost stumbled.

“You are appalling,” Nathaniel murmured as he straightened up and pushed himself off the car. 

Jean’s smile was enough of a response: smug, content, darker than he’d ever seen it. 

“What are you,” Nathaniel asked, confused. He looked almost afraid, though it was something far, far from fear. It was lust, something hypnotic and disturbing he loved with his entire being. He was struck with the realization he’d give everything away for Jean—but felt content to keep the epiphany for himself, knowing these words didn’t fit the setting. Somehow it knew it was the same for Jean. It always had been.

“You but better?” he jested. “Hurry up or I’ll fuck Lydia instead.” 

The dark veil over Nathaniel’s eyes disappeared, windswept, and he smiled back, all teeth. “Like you would.”

“You know I could.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But you don’t want to.” 

Silence settled—heavy and loud, like all things they didn’t need to say aloud. Nathaniel didn’t move or look away as he pressed the unlock button on Kevin’s car keys and gently pulled on the doorknob. 

“Fuck,” Nathaniel breathed out in anticipation. He didn’t even need to check to knew both were aroused to the core, blood pumping at their ears with all the drugs and Champagne flowing in their veins like sweet poison. “I really wish he’ll go for his car,” he said like a plea.

Jean’s concentrated frown disappeared in favour of a smile, one Nathaniel could have killed for. It was more than agreement—it was hope, it was obscenity, it was greed and all things terrible Jean Moreau had never quite shown. 

“Get in the other seat,” Nathaniel ordered, and Jean complied in the same breath.

It’s only when they were both seated that Nathaniel took the time to breathe. He put the keys in the ignition, locked the car up and turned to put music on, not caring if they attracted attention with the noise. 

“They’re late,” Nathaniel commented, phone in hand, as an old couple walked past their car. “What do you think they’ll say if they see us?” His tone was light and playful, a child fooling around—but Jean’s was low and serious when he spoke.

“Let them watch.” 

Nathaniel forgot what he was doing, staring at Jean as the Bluetooth signal echoed in the car. The windows were tinted black and the alleyway was dark enough to grant them privacy, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t care whether they were found or not. Not anymore, at least.

“Fuck that,” Nathaniel muttered as he unlocked his phone and went through his app. He searched for his music and clicked on the first playlist he found. The car instantly trembled with the bass, and Jean’s eyes didn’t once let go of him. 

He didn’t help when Nathaniel slid his phone on the dashboard, didn’t help either when Nathaniel worked his way out of his blazer. Instead, he stared as he did, only doing the same once he was done as to not miss a bit—and Nathaniel granted himself the luxury of staring in his turn. He was about to take his tie off when Jean stopped him, all seriousness and sudden authority. 

“No. Let me.” 

Nathaniel waited—then let go of his tie, and, in the same breath, crawled over the stick shift and straddled Jean’s lap. Jean’s hands instantly wrapped around his neck to bring him closer, heights suddenly reversed, and pulled him in for a kiss. It was mindless and sloppy at first, lips brushing, searching, blind and confused. Each time they met again, however, they knew the way a little better, claiming each other with such a force it almost hurt. Jean parted his lips easily, letting him in, and Nathaniel ran his hands through Jean’s hair as he thrust forward. 

Jean groaned against his lips, hands sliding down Nathaniel’s body to gently pull on his tie. He didn’t stop him when Nathaniel worked blind fingers around his belt, messy and hurried. 

“Do you need anything?”

“I don’t,” Nathaniel breathed out, reeking confidence. “I told you: I want pain.”

Jean let his head fall back against the headrest and breathed out. Everything was too much, but it was perfect—heart beating so fast he couldn’t feel it anymore. By the time Nathaniel was done, Jean’s fingers were working on Nathaniel’s belt in his turn, perhaps even clumsier than his had been. 

“He’ll never be able to drive after that,” Nathaniel laughed against Jean’s lips, soundless, as he sat on his knees and pulled his slacks down. 

It was a terrible position to do such a thing, but the Bugatti was wide and only had two seats—this made the space practical enough for Nathaniel to manage a way out of his pants, not bothering to remove his shiny shoes. As for his shirt, Jean was calmly unbuttoning it. 

“Understandable,” Nathaniel went on on his own to make up for the lack of reply, and it was obvious he had trouble breathing by now. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

Jean’s eyes shot upward, searching for his, but his face was cold and expressionless—fighting, fighting to hold back the urge to be done with it now. Patience had always been a meek and terrible thing, one he had never quite mastered, especially not when it came to Nathaniel Wesninski. 

A lady walked past the car and both watched as she did, stilling in their position but smiling wide when the lady stared back. She probably couldn’t see them with the tinted windows, but they kept smiling anyways, smug and proud with their debauchery, not caring if they were to ever be found. 

Hoping for it instead.

“I want you,” Jean mouthed against his bare shoulder as he pulled his shirt down both of them. “I want you, I want you, I want you.” 

“Whole?” Nathaniel asked as he sighed against his mouth, pulling on Jean’s lower lip with his thumb.

“Whole.” 

He snorted, softly, warm air tickling Jean’s lips as it crashed against them. 

“What would your parents say if they saw you now?” 

“They already know what I am,” he smiled. It wasn’t about kissing boys—it was about causing chaos wherever he went. “Why do you think I got transferred all the way to here?”

“So they wanted to get rid of you,” Nathaniel teased, on the thin line of the acceptable.

“They wanted me to be far, far away when I’d snap.” 

“Are you snapping yet?”

“Close,” Jean breathed out as he grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him.

They seemed to forget what words were after that, kissing each other senseless and barely parting long enough to breathe. Nathaniel bucked his hips once, twice, and—Jean cried out, pulling on Nathaniel’s red curls to get his attention.

“Please,” he said.

Nathaniel could never get over how beautiful the word sounded on Jean’s lips. A prayer, asking for permission instead of imposing it—even though he knew fully well Jean had it in him to fight for what he craved without even waiting for the green light. He could have done as Kevin always did with Nathaniel, both fighting for dominance. He could have stolen it—instead, he was imploring. It was breathtaking.

“Whatever you want,” Nathaniel murmured—and he meant it.

Oh, he would give him the world. 

Both parted their lips as Nathaniel knelt again, and both threw their heads back when he sat back down—oh so slowly. It was torture in its own twisted kind of way, a pleasure so overwhelming it almost seemed painful. Nathaniel stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, waiting for Jean to open his eyes again. 

Jean was frowning, nails furiously digging into Nathaniel’s bare thighs to makeup for the intolerable delight of being inside him. It wasn’t simply that—it was after all of this time. Of fighting, of craving, of dreaming awake. They’d played and played and chased each other knowingly, yet never bothering sealing their promises with a kiss. It was astonishing they had only kissed days ago. 

He had no words for a pleasure this absolute, a sin this pure. 

“If you leave I might kill you,” Nathaniel whispered as he pulled on Jean’s lower lip again—and slowly lifted himself.

“I belong with you,” he reminded. Jean opened his lips as though to add something, but Nathaniel sat back down and Jean couldn’t breathe. 

The moan he let out was low, dangerous—and suddenly he was grateful for the loud music. 

Then something vainly went for the doorknob and hit the driver window, and they both stopped mid-kiss to turn. They only recognized the dark form when two hands were pressed onto the glass for the stranger to peep into the car—it was Kevin. He instantly withdrew, and Nathaniel bucked his hips again as they stared at the window. 

The song coming to its end, they easily heard Kevin’s loud, embittered “fuck you!” as he yelled it to the night. Nobody answered, of course, and Nathaniel closed his eyes with a content smile as he moved around Jean. He barely found enough self-control to reach for the button on the dashboard to unlock all doors.

They didn’t quite stop and they didn’t quite wait. Somehow, they didn’t know what would happen—only hoped for it. 

It took a moment, two, three minutes perhaps, but then the door opened itself and Kevin slid into the driver seat. He didn’t look at them at first, and they didn’t stop either, moving and thrusting and sighing at his sides.

Then, tentatively, Kevin glanced—just a second. 

“What are you doing in my car?” he asked, eyes closed, as Nathaniel’s hand softly caressed his cheek.

“Fucking,” is all Nathaniel said.

Kevin opened his eyes and looked away. 

“Whatever you are trying to do, it’s not working.” 

“Are you sure?” Jean asked—and it held no mockery, no amusement. It was a simple question, haughty almost, one that didn’t believe in Kevin’s words in the least. 

Then Kevin turned, pride awoken, eyes wildly working as he took everything in. Nudity had never been a mystery between them, with the showers they had to take after practice, all these nights spent in the same bed, and the childhood Nathaniel and Kevin had shared before all of this even started. Yet, there was something unsettling, seeing Nathaniel naked in such a moment, in such a setting—and he frowned as he guiltily looked down where Nathaniel was aggressively thrusting back into Jean. 

“We’re close now,” Jean said, holding the words out like an offer, kissing Nathaniel’s neck and staring at Kevin as he did. 

Kevin’s lips parted but no sound came out. 

“Come on,” Nathaniel encouraged, though it was a tossup at to who he was giving it to. He was picking up the speed now, brows furrowing each time he felt moans and sighs warring down his throat.

“Why my car?” is all Kevin said.

Nathaniel wildly bucked his hips by way of answer and watched as Kevin’s face tightened with confusion. It was frustration, denial and desire in his eyes, never knowing on what to settle. Kevin let out a deep grunt and both boys turned to hold his gaze, stunned by the noise. They had played with one another before, but this was the first time Kevin was there to take part in it. That he’d stayed instead of disappearing was proof enough, and it sent Jean moaning in wild attempts to contain the pleasure. 

Neither missed the way Kevin settled back in his seat, slid a hand down his crotch and looked away.

“Look at us,” Nathaniel coldly snapped. “I want you to look at us.”

Kevin didn’t obey right away, heart racing with fear.

“You stayed. You stayed for us,” Nathaniel went on. “You’re here for us as we’re here for you.”

At that, finally, Kevin dared to look again, head jerking back against the armrest as he couldn’t help but search for friction against his own palm. He watched them kiss as they side-eyed him still, and before he could realize it, he was too far gone to pretend this hadn’t happened. They were here, on the passenger seat of his Bugatti, there for him to see—to watch.

The jealousy he could have felt then didn’t have reason to be. They respected him, in a way—never asking him to join in, never blaming him for not doing it on his own. They hadn’t grabbed his hand, hadn’t reached over the stick shift. They’d only entertained whatever lust they had seen in his eyes, found a way to bring it to him without making him break. 

It was the easiest concession they could have come up with, and the most beautiful thing Kevin had ever seen.

“You don’t have to,” Jean informed when Kevin rubbed his palm against his crotch again, face tensing up at the pleasure it brought. It wasn’t quite his hand; it was associating that pleasure with such a sight. 

“Finish up,” Kevin said instead. It was confident, cold almost, perhaps the most Kevin-like they had ever seen so far.

Nathaniel flashed a smile and complied, leaning back as he rested both palms on the dashboard behind him. Jean stroked his thighs, up and down and up again, then wrapped a hand around him and Nathaniel cried out so loudly he almost shook with the sound of it. Jean tried to buck his hips upward in need—but Nathaniel put a palm against his clothed chest and held him there, taking back control as he led them over the edge.

Kevin could only watch, speechless, cheeks burning as he took in every detail—the blue reflection of the neon interior lights upon Nathaniel’s bare skin, or the pearls of sweat rolling down his back, or the way Jean scrunched up his nose to hold back the groans, the way his fingers desperately held onto Nathaniel’s thighs, squeezing flesh to compensate the pleasure he was given.

As filthy as it was, it held the soft nostalgia of something he would miss after it was done—and Kevin wondered how many nights he would dream of this again.

“What are you doing to me,” Kevin mumbled in a half-moan as he tried to fight back to urge to give in. 

Nathaniel barely had enough composure to smile at the words, edging so close he could feel it from the inside. Their breaths were sharper, shorter, senseless too, and then something snapped. Then it was only growing intensity each passing second, voices getting louder and moans getting fiercer, Kevin staring wide-eyed, unable to decide whether it was horrifying or magnificent. Both, probably, even more so as Jean leaned in and bit Nathaniel’s neck so hard he whined in pain. 

One thing triggered another, and then it was done—Nathaniel coming in Jean’s hand, and, a few seconds later, as Nathaniel’s bare body twisted above him, shook, shook and shook, Jean jerked his head back so violently bones cracked. 

Music and desperate grunts drowned in one another before they relaxed again, Nathaniel slumped over Jean’s body like a lifeless doll. 

When they turned again, breathless and dizzy, Kevin was gone.


	3. temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin gets dangerously close to losing control, and Nathaniel starts to investigate on someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you for your support my loves. This chapter is chaotic and very repetitive but I just wanted it posted after all this time. I’m already working on chapter 4, there will be lots of Richard and Marcus, Andrew too, and hopefully some fateful jeankevineil. (Slow burn my ass.)
> 
> I’m [on tumblr](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com) if you search for me.
> 
> By the way, I have created [a Perfect Court/jeaneil/kevineil/jeankevin/jeankevineil and GG Discord chat](https://discord.gg/WVZfzsH), so if you want to join in, it’s over there.

 

There has always been this myth that lonely people are the quiet ones. The broken ones, in minuscule pieces, impossible to pick up with how scattered and lost they are. These are said to be far away from here—no matter where they are. Drifting into space, searching for warmth and never finding it. It’s a curse, they say; one that has no remedy. None, perhaps, but luck and helpful star alignments, trivial things that cause the mind to brighten on its own. Nathaniel, however—he had never been the quiet one. He had never been lost, never been drifting, and held all curses but this of loneliness.

Sometimes yet he would wake up empty. Vain, inadequate—as though someone had dug greedy hands into his chest as he slept, searching for this meek and dangerous thing that beat and pulsed and lived. It was a truth he had accepted long ago: some mornings, Nathaniel would wake up already dead. Like a fruit without its seed, a fire died down, devoid to the core. A black silhouette without a shadow.

He cracked an eye open. It was darkness still, the comfortable kind—warm and reassuring as he liked it. Forehead pressed against Jean’s bare back and hands tucked between their bodies, he took it in detail after detail as to not let the moment escape right away. The slow, steady rhythm of Jean’s breathing. The gentle noise of early birds summoning sunlight as they chirped in the remnants of the night. He rolled onto his back and leaned on his elbows, observing the room in its peaceful envelope. He had always liked these mornings.

Judging by the shadows dancing on the walls, window still open to let the rare, warm October air in, it had to be five in the morning, nothing less and nothing more.

Nathaniel crawled out of bed and over Jean’s still body, then stopped before the window without realizing it. No light, no light. Nobody up or nobody home. It seemed that life had been extracted from the school this morning, people so deeply lost in their dreams they couldn’t be brought back to life. Anxious, he peeped at Jean, then something hot tickled his lips and he brought a hand to his nose, cautious—tinting his skin with blood, watching it in fascination.

“Shit,” he whispered, but made no move to wipe the blood off his skin. Instead, he rubbed it between his fingers and watched its color fade and dry, losing warmth and power and beauty as he did. Bleeding noses had never been unknown to a boy like Nathaniel, one who fought just to prove himself he could—but lately, he had been more prone to self-destruction than belligerence. Oh, how easy could it be, to spend so much time on the decaying of his self instead of wasting it on the world.

The only chaos he needed was his own.

Nathaniel let out a long sigh and turned to the corner of the room, where a wide dark wooden bookshelf held elegant boxes and piles of vinyls. He went through them one by one, sliding his dirty fingers across the covers, dusting them off, trying to remember the sound they made on his mother’s old gramophone. She, who had never seemed to have much passion for anything, had at least managed to do that: with music, like the devil creeping in, she had invaded his soul and he couldn’t let go. He cherished the memories like they meant something, though he was uncertain they did.

Choice made he grabbed a cigarette from the pack, nonchalantly resting among costly trinkets on their armchair table, then plucked it between his lips and slid the record out of his wrapping. It took no more than seconds to place it on the record player, and when Nathaniel softly pressed the button he watched the disc turn around and around until he couldn’t think.

The soft sound of the old Italian music was muffled by Jean’s slurred words, but he didn’t turn around.

“What are you doing?”

“Distraction,” he said, and stared as the vinyl turned some more.

No answer came from the bed, where he guessed Jean had rolled onto his back to claim the space of his squatted single bed, but he did hear the soft rustle of sheets and the just as soft snort.

“Quando ascolto alla radio una canzone,” Jean smiled as he crossed his arms behind his head. It didn’t last long: in the same breath, he was out of bed, pulling on his boxers where it had been ruffled up to his stomach. He had barely lit up his cigarette that he could already feel Jean’s warmth against his bare back. “You have nice taste for such a fine and early morning,” Jean mocked.

“Melancholy,” he retorted. It was no such thing as this, but he didn’t have a better word.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, but didn’t wait for permission. Instead, he grabbed Nathaniel’s hips and turned him around, gently so, sliding lukewarm palms up his shoulders and down his arms. Nathaniel let his cigarette dangle between his lips, staring up at Jean, letting himself get moved around and twirled in dizzying circles. They collapsed against one another and Jean tightened his grip on his hands. It was nothing of a dance, but more of a dialogue, words held in silence between the two of them, like so many secrets they’d never say aloud.

“This is not a waltz, Jean.”

“Everything is a waltz,” Jean said. He gave Nathaniel a moment to stop and take a drag, breaths lingering as they leaned in. Never kissing, never giving in, stepping so close to the crave they could feel it crawling in their skin. It was both impressive and maddening, to flirt their way around pleasure and pretend they didn’t need it, even when they ached for it anyways. Then before they could yield in Nathaniel turned around again, watching the record player as the song came close to its end. He didn’t fight the arms he found wrapped around his naked waist, trailing down like a possessive shield and pulling him closer.

He cradled his cigarette in his hand as Jean hovered his neck, breath warm and familiar. Jean smelled like luxury, like marble and noble wood, he smelled like those pieces of heaven you wished you could afford. Those were smells Nathaniel could never forget.

“Vallarino,” he whispered against his skin as Nathaniel closed his eyes to take a drag. It was too distracting, and Jean absentmindedly swung their hips together in a tranquil, lazy dance that looked oddly innocent. “What did you dream of to wake up to such impulsions?”

Nathaniel snorted. “Vallarino is not an impulsion. This is art. Commodity. Distraction,” he repeated, slightly turning his head to the side to emphasize his point. Jean didn’t look much impressed by the statement.

“Don’t think I will buy into this nonsense,” he said—he who drank beauty like deliverance could hardly be fooled, “not to me.”

Nathaniel stared at the record, and for a moment the dusty sounds of it brought him back home with his mother. He thought about it, even considered bringing it up—but there was nothing to say, nothing much but the remnants of a life he had given up on. That he was a Wesninski didn’t mean he still felt he was, and somehow, somewhere along the way, he had become more Jean’s than anyone’s. The realization, as terrifying as it was, softened him some; and gently he fell back against Jean’s chest, rolling a tired head to his shoulder. Jean’s lips brushed his temple in an instant, and he didn’t protest when Jean stole his cigarette to put it in the ashtray.

His hand caressed Nathaniel’s exposed throat. Nathaniel’s closed eyes seemed more than enough of an encouragement to keep going, guard down and breath steady proving more than he needed. Then he brushed Nathaniel’s bloody philtrum with a thumb, pensive.

“You filthy scum.”

Nathaniel laughed in a breath. “You like it.”

Jean didn’t respond right away. “Dramatic.”

“Nothing is more dramatic than you, Moreau.”

“Oh, so says he, who wears blood like velvet,” he retorted, sliding a careful finger across Nathaniel’s lip to prove his point.

“You like it,” he simply repeated—softer this time, like a secret.

Jean breathed in a little too sharp. “I do.” It wasn’t worth denying.

The confession was all he needed, and Nathaniel slid out of his grip to get pick up his cigarette. Jean only ran pensive lips against his nape and traced mindless circles where hips and thighs met with the rebound of flesh. It was firm and tender, familiar like his own, a body mastered with delicate fingertips and claimed and claimed and claimed—a piece of art he would say.

Then they parted, just like that, and Nathaniel went back to the records to search for another one, silence filling the room again when the song stopped.

“Get dressed,” Jean’s voice came from the back, where he most likely was making his bed. “If Kevin comes in and finds you like that, it might stir delicate memories he doesn’t want to bring up.”

He could hear the mockery in his tone, oh he could—but instead of agreeing, he let himself be taken by the chilling reality of his souvenirs. Both in the car, Kevin at their side, watching—

“He is one step closer to us, now.”

“If you say so,” Jean told him, and it reeked disbelief and exhaustion.

Nathaniel had known Kevin his entire life, but neither of them had ever been skilled at being anything but defiant with one another. This left a grey area of doubt and uncertainty, of an unpredictability that made Jean ill-at-ease at times. Of all the mysteries he had ever solved, Kevin was the most intricate.

Nathaniel fumbled with another record as Jean went through the wooden hangers of the closet they shared. It was a difficult thing to do, live together; not because they didn’t get along, but because they needed more. More space, more things, more everything—and sometimes, staying here felt like being irremediably trapped. Nathaniel figured that was why they would so often drive to the outlook and pretend nobody ever expected them to come back.

“The dinner hall isn’t open yet,” Jean intervened when Nathaniel rushed to get dressed.

“I know,” he said, turning to him with a grin. “We’re going to the field.”

Jean waited a second, hesitating perhaps. Then he went back to what he was doing before, and Nathaniel took that as a yes.

 

“Is that all you have for me?”

Nathaniel exhaled, sore but more awake than he’d been in a long time. He had missed this—getting up early with Jean to train in the comforting darkness of autumnal mornings, challenging each other with fixed stares and sly smiles. Defying his own partner was something mesmerizing to do, he thought; it was being confronted to his own reflection. Both had the same reflexes, the same skill and the same technics, but what Nathaniel didn’t have were those fortunate inches. What he lacked in height, however, he compensated in speed.

He picked up the ball where it lied on the grass, bouncing it in the net of his racquet with an ease that screamed habit and idleness.

“Fuck you,” he let out, and though he was breathless, it sounded like violence.

They had been at it for so long now that the sun was rising in their backs.

Nathaniel breathed hard, staring at Jean through the grating of his helmet. Shadows wrapped them up, concealing sharp smiles, softening them—but it was easy to feel the tension hanging between the two. Palpable, and familiar, too, like two brothers who had missed the nostalgic taste of a tender rivalry.

Jean waited for him to move, but he didn’t. Then suddenly Nathaniel lifted his racquet and started to run, so fast and desperate Jean almost stopped to watch. There was no point in following now, no matter how much he excelled in his position; Nathaniel was too far gone and in seconds the ball left his net, flawlessly thrown in the empty goal.

He turned around with a smile, holding his racquet low but proud like a trophy.

“Is this enough for you?”

“I suppose,” Jean simply answered. There was no pride in his words—he knew full well what were Nathaniel’s strengths. Just as much, he could easily spot his weaknesses, and that was why he didn’t bother feeling offended. “We should stop there.”

“I see you still can’t handle defeat,” Nathaniel mocked—but it was tender and warm, and Jean knew he had missed it too.

“I can handle you,” Jean contradicted.

“Can you really?”

It sounded like a challenge, but they already knew the answer to everything that hadn’t yet been asked. It was pointless.

Perhaps Jean was the only one who could ever.

“I bet you are relieved, after all.”

Jean looked up, helmet in his hand, barely wiping the sweat off his forehead with a swift move of his forearm. He looked exhausted, but Nathaniel was almost certain it wasn’t just lacrosse.

“Why so?”

“Because, then, you’re my partner. Then… you don’t lose. Side with the victors and assure your triumph. That’s the basis of all strategies.”

Silence settled and, for a moment, Nathaniel wondered what reception his words would have. He didn’t worry, not quite; wondered, simply, like he would the weather or the time. Jean was no secret to him by now. He had learned him intimately, in all ways possible, and he knew too well what so often reflected in Jean’s pensive eyes. He couldn’t name it—but he’d recognize it anywhere.

“We make a great duo,” is all Jean said. It was a way to say he was proud to have him, and another to say he was proud of himself too. Both were equally right.

“I know,” Nathaniel said softly. All defiance gone, all provocation swallowed down without even noticing. Jean was awfully good at softening him, and though he abhorred it, he let him.

They picked up the balls in silence, brought the buckets to the changing room and sank down on the benches to take off their shoes.

“Friday’s match is going to be easy,” Nathaniel realized as he massaged his left ankle.

“Like all the matches before this one. Perchance, things might get interesting this year.” Jean got up and pulled his shorts down, then turned, like suddenly he had remembered something utterly ridiculous. “I heard the Palmetto Foxes have qualified this year.”

“They what now?” Nathaniel echoed, dumbfounded.

His reaction was mirrored by Jean, who only grinned at the sight. “That’s what Riko told me yesterday before the reception.”

“What else did he tell you?”

Jean shrugged, searching for the tag in his jersey to fold it the right way. “That they had new players. I think they’re getting serious about it.”

“There’s no such thing as being serious when you are mediocre,” Nathaniel said, and Jean didn’t reply. He didn’t need to: those were words of his own, so very often repeated. Nathaniel had learned to retain them. “They won’t go bigger than a meek attempt at taking their reputation back. By December it’ll all be forgotten.”

“Surely,” Jean agreed. The Palmetto State University Foxes had always been terrible, at everything they had ever undertaken. It wasn’t for their lack of will, as so they had, but rather talent and cohesion. Where the Ravens excelled, the Foxes could only ever hope to be tolerable, and that made the reality of it equally worthy of admiration and deeply laughable. “They seem determined nonetheless.” He half-turned, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his back. “New captain, new ideals. It might work better this time.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, and took his jersey off with such disinterest it could almost be rude. “If they survive this season, then we’ll grant them the attention they’re asking for. Our time is precious. We won’t be wasting it on someone who can’t score.”

Jean laughed, so softly Nathaniel thought he’d hallucinated.

“If you’re only granting your interest to those who will beat us,” he said, “they might await forever.”

The look they share was knowing, and the smile that followed infinitely more.

 

Richard had never seemed like something to be noticed until that day.

He’d always been a wise, meek thing that made it a point to always stay in line. It didn’t mean he never broke the rules, and it certainly didn’t mean he had nothing to hide, but it meant, perhaps, Richard was, of all of them, the one who had the greatest chance to get out of this alive and well. Survival instincts had nothing to do with that. Richard had been gifted with something none of the others had: the sense of hierarchy and moderation. Where the rest of the gang fell into chaos, fighting for dominance and never quite finding it, excess after excess, fault after fault, Richard had never stepped over the thin lines of reasonable. At least, that’s what Nathaniel had thought.

All were waiting for Andrew and Kevin in the middle of campus, nonchalantly leaning against red bricks like they owned it all. Nobody seemed to care about them—they had learned to ignore their royal presence long ago—and the rare stares that dared wander their way were instantly intercepted. By Nathaniel, whose gaze was hard and piercing enough to make anyone look away; or by Jean and Riko, who’d stare back with such plain disinterest people would rush to disappear. Unease seemed to be a side effect whenever they were close, though nobody could tell exactly why.

Richard, on the other hand, was the softest thing to look at. Younger than most, the face of an angel, too delicate to be touched—he looked too beautiful to be true, and way too beautiful for damaged goods like them. Word went around, saying they would break him eventually, and sometimes Richard would agree.

“Hold this,” Nathaniel said, handing his lighter to Richard, who instantly uncrossed his arms to comply. He watched, confused, as Nathaniel searched his duffel bag for cigarettes. He didn’t want to ask Riko for his, and he knew for a fact that Jean never took his cigarettes to lacrosse practice, even though Jean never seemed to go anywhere without them. “Where are they,” he mumbled in his breath, and, at first, he didn’t even notice it.

It was a little bit of nothing, hardly worth the attention, but it was there. Richard, playing with the lighter, straight and graceful in his hand—pressing on the metal in a sharp move to make the flame dance before his eyes. He could have done just this, and so much would have gone unnoticed, so very innocent—but he didn’t. Instead, he did it again, and again, never quite satisfied, like perhaps the flame wasn’t enough. Nathaniel looked up from his bag, frown tense and irritated, enough that he didn’t ask any questions and demanded answers instead.

Richard picked up on it instantly, as he did anything that Nathaniel ever did.

“Sorry.”

Silence settled and stretched, uneasy. Nathaniel couldn’t tell why exactly, but something in Richard’s shoulders was tighter than usual, like he knew he had done something utterly wrong. Unforgivable. It was as ridiculous as it was confusing, and Nathaniel had no time for mysteries.

“What’s wrong with you?” Riko stepped in before Nathaniel even could. Leaning against the opposite wall alongside Jean, he looked more like a displeased parent than he did a friend. Friend wasn’t a word they threw around too much anyway, no matter how close.

Guilt flashed upon Richard’s face for a brief moment, and then he hid the lighter in his palm as to not tempt himself to do it again. Riko’s eyes stared, harsh and searching, and Jean observed it all from afar, barely disturbed.

Cigarettes in hand, Nathaniel offered his palm, and when Richard eventually noticed it, dropped the lighter in its hollow.

“What’s happening here?” Kevin asked, voice almost a complaint. Nathaniel looked up instantly, body jerking back to life in a breath out. Somehow their eyes met, but Kevin looked away instantly—and Nathaniel frowned, disliking the blatant avoidance. It was always like that. He should have known.

“Good question,” Riko said. All eyes were on Richard, and he was blushing visibly.

Lydia looked up from her phone, as though remembering she wasn’t alone, and confusion soon left room for impatience. “I thought we were heading to practice. Coach is going to kill us if we’re not there in time.”

It was as easy to spot who tensed and who did not at the words. Some looked around, uneasy, others intently searched for eyes which did not stare back. Murder, after all, had become something they shouldn’t joke about, and they all knew it.

It was Andrew who broke the silence, grin as sharp as it was annoyed. “The lady is right. I’m not waiting for any of you, as little as I want to go.” Just like that, he was gone, and Nathaniel had a sentiment of déjà-vu as he watched them leave. Riko followed, quick-paced, and Kevin stood there, hesitant. He didn’t meet Nathaniel’s eyes, nor did he meet Jean’s—but he stood there nonetheless, looking at his shiny shoes like they held all the answers to the universe. At least, those he was in dire need of.

“Are we going to talk about it,” Nathaniel said—but suddenly it was half a mockery, and Kevin walked up to Riko like he feared, if he stayed another second behind, he would be trapped with them forever. Nathaniel looked, agape, and turned to watch Kevin disappear step after step into the crowd of hurried students. All wore the same uniform, but it was easy to spot Kevin: he was the only one who looked like he needed to run away from here. And for a moment, Nathaniel wondered if he would.

“Disappointing,” he said to himself, or to Jean perhaps.

Jean appeared at his sides, hovering overhead like a dark guardian angel he’d never asked for. He didn’t seem phased, but Nathaniel guessed that’s because Jean always looked bitter no matter what.

Of course it was disappointing—but they should have seen it coming.

“I thought it would’ve been enough,” Nathaniel said. The words were heavier than he thought they would. “He stayed.”

“He’ll come to us eventually,” Jean said, and they both watched to see if Kevin would turn around. He didn’t. “That’s where he belongs.”

It took a minute before Nathaniel glanced up at him.

“I hope you’re right.” Then again, Jean always seemed to be, even though he’d mostly proved to be wise when assuming the role of bearer of terrible news. If they were to ever get arrested, chances were Jean would be the one to tell them. Somehow it gave Nathaniel a bitter tang of hope, thinking, perhaps, Jean was cynical enough to perceive good things happening. At least he couldn’t be biased.

He grabbed the strap of his duffel bag and checked to see if he’d dropped anything. Jean took his and waited, as he always did, and they left side by side—as they always did.

 

While Edgar Allan’s campus was a place to find your place in, Castle Evermore was a whole another world. With its endless corridors and its impressive wooden stairs, it looked every bit like a palace frozen in time somewhere in the past. Half a kingdom of lost treasures and dusty books, half a paradise of new technologies and futuristic wonders. It was a place Nathaniel had come to cherish, and not just the familiar room Kevin and Riko shared since they were children, or the immense and polished reception room, but the obscure offices and the dark red wood of Tetsuji’s desk. Oh, he liked every bit of it, from the countless stairs to its royal façade. Some days, Castle Evermore felt more like home than his own ever did—and no matter where he turned, his father was nowhere to be seen.

Nathaniel stopped by the counter of the reception desk, vaguely smiling at the lady typing behind a computer screen. She didn’t even bother looking up—Nathaniel was as familiar as these walls were. He’d practically grown up here alongside Riko and Kevin, and anyone working in the administration of Edgar Allan had unfortunately met Nathaniel one time too many.

“What can I do for you Nathaniel?” Words slurred, exhausted in advance, and his grin twitched in amusement.

“Oh, am I disturbing something? Dull and lifeless administrative tasks most likely. Anyways, the Master wants to see me.” Master was short for Headmaster, but people were quick to believe it was a joke Nathaniel entertained sarcastically; and they were right. “Is he there?” he said, and sprawled on the counter to peep at the private room behind the administration desk. It was one of the countless restrooms for the teaching body, but there was no soul to be found.

He straightened and frowned, irritated he’d have to wait—for Tetsuji of all.

“Mr. Moriyama isn’t here at the moment,” the secretary said, quite unnecessarily so.

“Groundbreaking,” he mumbled, and looked around to check the surroundings. It wouldn’t make Tetsuji come any quicker, and for a moment, Nathaniel contemplated leaving anyway.

His friends were probably smoking and reading in the private library they so often occupied, or perhaps even sitting outside, exchanging theories on how the world would end. Lydia always said governments would make experiments and nothing would ever end prettily. Riko insisted a third world war would eventually break out, and Kevin insisted people had enough evidence from the past to learn from it. Quite contradictorily, he’d always been the one to say history always repeated itself. Nathaniel’s theory was arrogant, but it always appeared horridly likely—he was a firm believer the worst chaos was always inflicted on the smallest number. Mass destruction, he thought, was as boring as it was usual. The real sin was subtle discord, a turmoil so beautiful and so delicate nobody could ever prevent it.

When he turned again to check the wide wooden doors at the end of the long corridor, he wasn’t alone anymore. A woman was standing next to him, middle-aged, elegant enough to be granted a second look. He observed her with the same interest he did anything else: barely, with the strange and exquisite nonchalance of someone who has better things to do.

“Hello,” she said, but not to him. This time the lady behind the desk looked up, and the smile she displayed was as mechanical as it was empty. Nathaniel peeped at it, content. He liked it when people showed their flaws, when people showed their weakness—it was a small window for him to slip into and, afterward, reading them was scandalously easy.

He wondered what things Jean would have picked up in so few words, so little gesture. Always more than he ever did, he knew; Jean was gifted at analyzing people even when he didn’t want to, even when he didn’t care. Perhaps he’d been lied to too many times not to spot the lies, and perhaps he’d been damaged too much not to recognize his kind.

“Mrs. Hertford,” the lady said, slow and cautious like she was repeating a speech out of memory, “I fear I haven’t received your package yet. Maybe later today.”

“I understand,” the woman said, and Nathaniel side-eyed her with something that resembled dislike. Yes, she was pretty, all blonde hair and tan skin, a face time hadn’t exactly spared, but a face that still held all the beauty of a poetic youth. He’d understand, if people liked her, but he didn’t. “May I come in later this afternoon?”

The lady nodded, and she slid something out of her bag. Nathaniel watched as it landed on the counter, a wide brown envelope with a name he recognized instantly scribbled on the front.

“One of my students forgot to hand in a paper. I couldn’t correct it in time, and couldn’t catch him this week. Could you perhaps make sure he gets it?”

Nathaniel waited another second, confused at first, heart racing with something that surely was impulsion. He felt it throbbed in his neck, dangerous, but ignored it with a just as dangerous ease. He’d made it a rule, long ago, to always trust his instinct.

“Good morning,” he said, sweet and sour. The smile he gave Mrs. Hertford was of plastic, but she didn’t seem to realize it as she smiled back.

“Hello,” she nodded. He’d seen her before, but he’d never gotten to hear her full name.

“I’m Nathaniel.” She probably didn’t care, but he didn’t, either. “I don’t remember seeing you around before.” That was a lie, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Pardon me, I’m still new here. I started teaching at Edgar Allan earlier this year. Mrs. Hertford, History.”

“Oh,” Nathaniel said, and suddenly his smile was wide and genuine. Everything made sense, but at the same time, it didn’t. Something was off and he could almost brush it with his fingertips; it was right there, just out of reach.

“You seem familiar.”

“Linguistics,” he said, as though this explained everything. “Math?” he tried then with a smile, even when he knew it would only confuse her further. He was good at this: unsettling people so terribly they would stop functioning, searching for exits like dire survival.

He looked at her lips, a pale rose that seemed way too childish for her age.

“Nice lipstick,” he said before she could add anything.

She frowned, thrown off like he knew she’d be. Somehow, Mrs. Hertford was so terribly predictable he loathed her for it. “Thank you,” she said, but both knew there was no sincerity in it. She pushed the envelope a little further on the counter and turned around, visibly eager to put distance between the two of them. “Nice to meet you.”

And just like that, she was leaving, heals clicking on the marble like a death sentence. Nathaniel felt content watching her disappear, even more so to know he had rushed her exit by his mere presence, probably validating his own theory in the same breath. And when the doors closed, he turned to the lady behind the desk, a palm flat on the envelope.

“May I ask what this is about?”

She looked up, familiar in her boredom. It wasn’t threatening, but more amusing, rather; like a parent you’d find joy in annoying. “Do I seem to you like I know the answer to this? You could have asked her.”

“I could,” he agreed. But he didn’t want to. And most importantly, it was wise not to. “May I take a look, then?”

The lady frowned. “This is private.”

“I know him,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger on the name scribbled in black. It was Richard’s, in curvy, elegant letters, and it was suspiciously diligent. “I can give it to him if you want to. Less trouble, less work.” He smiled, charming, and the lady seemed to hesitate.

Then she went back to her computer and he knew he’d failed. Sometimes the unspoken rules of the school system were just too rigid too be broken, at least when it came to the wobbly and falsely protective privacy schools were supposed to grant their students. He should have felt grateful, he who had so many secrets to preserve, but he only felt deeply irritated by the added difficulty. This was complicating everything.

“Don’t you have class, Nathaniel?”

“Come on, like I would ever skip them,” he laughed. It was hard to know if he was serious.

“Then go,” she said.

“You,” he leaned in, and the lady stopped typing, unsettled by the newfound proximity. It was easy now to get his smell, a strange mixture of youth and danger. “You are no fun.”

She stared but didn’t say a word—instead, pointed a half-stern finger at the corridor, and he gave one last glance at the brown envelope before heading where Mrs. Hertford had disappeared a minute earlier. Whatever was in this envelope, he needed to know, and he promised himself to find out.

After all, Richard studied many things, but certainly not History.

 

They were all waiting outside of the dinner hall when Nathaniel walked down the stairs. There, two feet behind, was Raj—smile easy and polite, following him out of the building and to theirs cars where each was neatly parked in the student parking lot, a treasure of their own. It only took a moment for Riko to realize he was there, and when he did, both Andrew and Richard stared in confusion.

“What’s he doing here?” Riko asked, sharp and puzzled. He didn’t like surprises, certainly not when they came in pair with Nathaniel Wesninski.

Jean, leaning against his car with his hands down his pockets, didn’t seem phased in the least. Kevin and him shared a glance, but Nathaniel had only eyes for Riko, begging for confrontation as the corners of his lips curved in provocation.

“He’s coming with us.”

“So I see.”

Nobody spoke.

Nathaniel and Riko stood face to face, barely a foot apart, staring each other down with that same terrifying aggression they’d adorn in their brutal wars. The rest didn’t dare intervene, or they didn’t care enough to—either way they stood to the side, calm but impatient, all glancing at their cars as though wondering when they would leave. Andrew lost the last bits of his already shaky patience as seconds passed, but he was wise enough not to speak up yet.

It was an eternity before anyone did, and when they did, it was Jean.

“Let him.”

Riko didn’t even bother turn around, hardly glancing above his shoulder in Jean’s direction. Jean was something special, something fierce—and a figure of false authority they didn’t question, perhaps because it didn’t need to be. Usually, Jean would be out of it, so disinterested and judgmental he would show is irritation from afar. But sometimes, when it seemed necessary, he’d side with Nathaniel—he always would. Raj’s presence was essential. He was too much of a risk, and he knew it.

Now that Riko and Jean were on opposite sides of the same deal, tension lingered in the air, making Richard tense and Lydia arch brows in interest—and Raj knew better than to join in. He’d seen them before, Nathaniel and Riko, be it on a field or in silent wars he could only witness from afar. He knew what it was like, how terrible it seemed. They were knives not to get too close to, not if he didn’t want to get cut and bleed out. There was little chance to get out of it alive.

The only one who didn’t seem to fear such a danger was Jean. It was always Jean.

“In what honour?”

“He earned his place,” Nathaniel said. It meant more than taking him along to the Obelisk—it meant making him part of the gang by doing so, and that much Riko could sense. They all did; straightening and lending their attention for a moment, all more concerned than the words could ever make them. They were all in this together after all, like a pact of their own, a promise they couldn’t break.

Riko and Nathaniel stared each other down another minute, and Kevin got impatient enough that he stood at Nathaniel’s sides in subtle warning. They hadn’t exchanged a word since the night before, and he knew better than to hope Kevin would back him up—but it was silent support and it was enough. To Riko, at least.

“Will we need to talk about this later,” he whispered to them both, knowing Raj wouldn’t be able to understand. There was too much between the lines for someone who couldn’t read them yet.

“Hopefully not,” Nathaniel answered. And with that, he met Kevin’s skeptical yet obedient gaze, a confirmation more than a reassurance. They were settled on the matter and there was no going back: tonight was the night they were going to drag Raj to their own little underground hell, tainting his innocent palms with the blood of those they had killed. Raj would go down with them—as selfish as that was. “Go with Richard,” he said to Raj, who instantly walked up to him. They shared a friendly handshake before disappearing inside the vehicle. Nathaniel thought it wise to send it to him, as Richard was the least likely to put him in trouble—that he was part of them didn’t mean it was necessary to. They, after all, had never sought more chaos than they’d voluntarily inflicted. In Nathaniel’s case, it didn’t mean much; but some of them still deserved more. Freedom. A chance—at anything.

Jean pushed himself off his car and uncrossed his arms, waiting a second before turning to the driver’s door. Nathaniel took it as his cue and walked past Riko, but before he could reach Jean’s Maserati, a strong hand wrapped around his arm and held him close.

“He will be your responsibility,” Riko whispered. It was menace and he knew it, but it was acceptance, too—it meant Riko was giving the green light and Nathaniel couldn’t care less about the aftermath.

It took a second of coldness deep Nathaniel’s eyes for him to drift back to this falsely warm façade. While Tetsuji had mastered the art of being expressionless, Nathaniel’s father excelled in cold laughters and terrible smiles, and he found in the end those were much terrible. It was endearing, to watch doubt and terror in people’s eyes when he showed his teeth, threat disguised in a smile. “They all are.”

Riko hesitated, then let him go—and they shared one last glance before Nathaniel disappeared where Jean was still waiting for him. When Jean looked at Riko, he didn’t look back. Instead he gazed at the old building for a minute or so, not caring whether Kevin would be waiting in his turn.

And Kevin did wonder, glancing back and forth between Jean and Riko’s cars, not knowing where he was supposed to be. He knew where he belonged but things were complicated, and Nathaniel stared, oh, he stared so hard he could feel it from miles away. It was as fascinating as it was unsettling and Kevin couldn’t brush the feeling off, not even when he closed his eyes. He wanted them. He wanted them both, and they were past denying it. Only—it was so much easier to ignore it and keep walking, and perhaps was that all Kevin had ever done.

Now he had the opportunity to choose and it made him dizzy.

Nathaniel, leaning an arm on the Maserati’s roof with his door open, didn’t miss it. “Hey, Kevin. I don’t think it would be wise for you to drive your car tonight. Who knows where your thoughts could wander,” he jested, smile wide and challenging.

Kevin shuddered but hardened still, unwilling to yield.

“I’m okay,” he said, even when Lydia curiously stared.

“Never doubted it,” is all Nathaniel said.

But then, before they could offer Kevin a ride, Nathaniel was sliding in the passenger seat and closing his door. Jean followed a second after, and Kevin was left there, confused and alone. By now Riko was already walking to his Bugatti, and suddenly Kevin didn’t want to come along.

“No ditching,” Andrew warned in a light voice, probably sensing the tension around. It was playful but unbothered, enthusiast where he recognized Kevin’s unease, and Kevin decidedly walked to Andrew’s Mercedes. “Oh, sorry, did you mistake this as an invitation? I should have been more explicit.”

“I didn’t,” Kevin said—but still, he opened the door and sat there, and Andrew only snorted.

He didn’t want to be with Riko, didn’t want to endure Lydia’s observant questions, and didn’t want Richard’s anxious innocence either. Since the choice had been made for him, he had gone for the most reliable—though reliable was a questionable choice of words when it came to Andrew Asquith. It wasn’t trust and it wasn’t sympathy, not quite anyway; but rather something as cold as disinterest and it was all Kevin needed tonight. Someone who wouldn’t pry, or, at least, someone who would be able to distance himself with whatever he had figured out. Perhaps even keep it a secret, if he was in the mood.

Nobody asked questions.

Jean and Nathaniel waited for all the cars to pull off to follow.

“He talks,” Nathaniel said as he stared out the window. Richard’s car had barely disappeared from their sight when Jean started the engine. “It’s getting interesting.”

Jean’s hum agreed, but his silence was telling. A little too loud, chilling almost.

“He’s not ready, is he?”

“No,” Jean calmly confirmed. “He is not.”

“Then what will it take?” Nathaniel couldn’t hide the ugly frown that followed, all frustration and eagerness. He wanted the boy, and he wanted him now. More than tasting him, he needed to know they had won—he needed to know they had conquered him whole. That, however, had hardly ever been a question. Their conquest was successful; it was simply denied.

“We don’t need to do more than that,” Jean said. “We’ve done everything already.”

“More than what?” Nathaniel asked, and for a moment, his pensiveness was almost tender. Jean enjoyed the sight of it, surprisingly innocent, lost and childish.

“This,” he said as he reached out and grabbed Nathaniel’s chin. They didn’t move, at first, knowing what Jean meant—them, being together, kissing and breathing, hardly bothering to care for anything else than each other. Then Jean leaned in and let their lips brush, soft and forgiving, gentler than they could ever be on their own. It took one another to bring the best of them, even when it brought the worst as well. That much they were willing to accept, and better even: they sought it, desired it. Nathaniel’s dreams were made of Jean’s most terrible sins.

“Fuck,” Nathaniel whispered against his lips, eyes half-closed as he searched for reality. It was hard to fight against the current when Jean was so close. Gently, he caressed Jean’s cheekbone was tattooed.

Nathaniel, Riko and Kevin had tattooed themselves long ago, wanting, needing to prove they belonged. That they had found one another. That they were family. Jean had come around a year ago, and gotten tattooed only recently—Nathaniel could almost feel swollen flesh under his thumb.

“More,” he complained when Jean withdrew. He didn’t break the contact completely, hand idly stroking the back of Nathaniel’s neck in the most tender gesture he had ever received. It was always disturbing, to be handled with such care and attention, with such lovingness, no matter the degree of it. Some days it seemed rougher, tainted with lust—others, so very innocent it could almost be pure. And it was, in a sense. What they had was the purest, most genuine thing he had ever known, ever lived, and ever hoped to cherish.

“Wait for it,” Jean said. It sounded detached, but Nathaniel was no fool: deep in Jean’s throat, something was tight and troubled, throbbing with impatience. He slid a cautious hand on Jean’s thigh and smiled when he made no move to take it off of him.

Perhaps did it encourage him, because he moved his hand ever so slightly, up to his crotch, unmoving—cupping him there in the most innocent way. It didn’t match the fire in his eyes, but Jean didn’t bother pointing it out. He sighed softly, knuckles whitening as they clenched around the steering wheel. The car was still parked in front of the building, trembling with its energy, craving the speed and the thrill and the excess. Somehow, Nathaniel embodied it all.

“Wait for it,” he forced out again. It took great effort to let the words out and an even greater not to yield to the touch. There was no doubt what they would have done if he’d let Nathaniel. Realizing so relieved him, strangely; as though understanding Nathaniel was his, absolutely, terribly, given and offered, devoted, ever so haunted. He almost shook with the need to let him know.

Nathaniel withdrew his hand, however, and when he moved again it was ten minutes later—a soft and mindless brushing of hands where he rested his on top of Jean’s. It took a second only for Jean to turn his palm up and intertwine their fingers where they rested on his thigh, and they only parted when they reached the parking lot of the Obelisk.

The place was as crowded as usual, but they barely had to even stop at the entrance to get in. Nathaniel got high on the complaints he heard lingering behind him, bitter and displeased, and entered his own kingdom with the certainty this would be a good night. By the time they left the bar with a costly cocktail in each hand, the rest of the gang was comfortably seated in the far corner, half-hidden in the darkness where the neon lights didn’t flash.

“Waiting for us, I see,” Nathaniel joked as he stood before the table—filled with drinks and phones and unlit cigarettes and nameless white pills. Lydia slid further away to leave room for the both of them, and though the booth was wide enough for a few more, Jean and Nathaniel sat close enough to one another that it was obvious.

“Do we look like we’re waiting?” Riko said.

“Waiting, perhaps not,” Jean stepped in with a sly smile. “But you did look in dire need of some amusement.”

“So you think you constitute said amusement?” Lydia joined in. “In what ways, may I ask?” It was supposed to follow the conversation in its sarcastic thread, but Nathaniel sensed it: Lydia liked double meanings almost as much as she did fashion, disseminating clues and innuendos wherever she could. This was a real question and he knew it. She was defying him for truth and he wasn’t fooled.

They stared at one another, friendly so, but nobody addressed it. Only Jean seemed to notice—he always did. Nathaniel’s eyes slid in Raj’s direction before it could get any further, and Lydia let him, disappointing flashing on her face for a brief second before disappearing completely. This would come back sooner or later, Nathaniel knew, but for now he was safe.

“Like it there?” he told Raj as he looked up in surprise, like somehow he hadn’t thought people would ask him anything.

“I’ve been here once,” he said. “It’s a good place.”

“A good place,” Riko echoed, and it equal parts bitterness and arrogance.

Raj did glance his way, but Nathaniel ignored him with the easiness of long time practice. “It’s a place for losing control,” he half-corrected as he dug a hand in his pants. Tonight were expensive black jeans, tight and pristine, elegant carriers of whatever self-destructive pastimes he had for the night. And, tonight, he had his and Jean’s favourite in the hollow of his palm. “You’re our special guess, the honour is yours.”

A thin packet slid from a end of the table to another, and Raj watched as it stopped near his right hand. He didn’t dare pick it up right away, instead giving nervous glances around their booth.

“No need to worry about that,” Kevin mumbled, and though he didn’t seem to have followed anything of the conversation, frown deep and gaze disinterested, his words betrayed him easily. He could feel the heavy weight of Nathaniel’s eyes on him, but it was easier to play with his glass, half-full of something Nathaniel figured was whiskey.

“He’s right.”

Raj seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Nathaniel guessed he was all but a regular. To this club—and to the drugs, quite obviously. Lydia looked close to mock the deduction she too had drawn from Raj’s side, but she stayed quiet as the entire table waited for an answer. Then finally Raj picked the small packet and examined it with care.

“How much?” he asked, and it took a second for Nathaniel to understand.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Consider this your welcome gift.”

“Welcome?” Raj repeated, smile bright but unsure.

“You came along,” Jean pointed out in a chilling kind of calm, as though it was one of those foregone conclusions he couldn’t ignore. “You’re one of us now.” Phrased like this, it sounded awfully easy. Raj Bhandari had probably wondered what it would take for someone so terribly banal to befriend them on the regular, to enter the narrow inner circle of the gang—this they had officially named the Cenacle Club on university papers in order to get their own club office, and this Lydia had once jokingly called the Gucci Gang.

Riko seemed displeased by Jean’s words but made no move to protest. They had an agreement, now: and it was Nathaniel’s responsibility to handle Raj from now on. It was infinitely selfish to drag him down their mess, he knew that much, but it was just as necessary. People like Raj were too dangerous, too innocent. They could destroy all their chances for a future just by asking one question too many.

Survival instincts would keep him from putting them in danger from the moment he would be given a clue of what had happened. From the moment he would be told what they had done.

“Thank you,” Raj said, and Nathaniel felt the words tickle the tip of his mouth.

Just before he could open his mouth, though, Jean felt his muscles tensing where their bodies touched and leaned in, eyes soft and stern. “Not yet.”

There would be no going back from this. Words said, Raj would be the accomplice of their crimes, and nothing could ever erase the trace of their sins in Raj’s mind. He simply hoped the reaction they would get was going to be reasonable—controllable if anything. That, he didn’t doubt. Raj was a soft, gentle thing, one that deeply needed tenderness, one so easily manipulated. It was as easy as to invite him in and lock the door behind him to make sure he wouldn’t leave. People like Raj never escaped without permission.

For a minute or two they stayed there, watching as Raj grew less and less quiet. The packet made it to all ends of the table except Andrew’s, who took his own stuff out—and Jean grabbed Nathaniel’s wrist before he could follow. “I have something else for us,” he said so close to his ear Nathaniel shivered, and Jean’s fingers loosened around his wrist until Nathaniel freed himself. There was no violence, no authority—everything they ever did was such a strangely common agreement that didn’t need to be voiced.

Nathaniel was about to ask what, when and where when, suddenly, Jean slid off the booth and turned to the others. “Kevin,” he said—smile ghostly like a threat. It was ominous enough that everyone stopped talking to listen, Kevin looking back in defiance. “Come with us,” Jean went on, and Nathaniel got up in his turn. The message couldn’t be any clearer.

“Why?” Kevin asked, and it was all venom and bitterness.

“Just follow.”

“Can’t see a reason why I would,” he protested. It was easy to feel the tension as it rose, but nobody addressed it. It was rare enough to witness such an exchange, and everyone swallowed their words to remember them later on.

“Are you sure about that?” Jean teased, and for a moment, he almost looked like Nathaniel.

There he was, standing at Jean’s sides with his hands in his pockets, waiting for Kevin to obey. They looked ready to leave without Kevin despite their words, and perhaps was it what Kevin feared more than complying. If there was one thing he abhorred more than mediocrity, it was being left aside, and being left aside was never ass painful as it was by them.

They were something strange, something unspoken. A trio of sorts, an alliance that didn’t need more than the three of them. They were dependent, but wild, and reckless, each more chaotic than the other. It was hard to put a finger on what they truly were, and outsiders like Raj couldn’t see much more than the vague, blurry surface they had been served all this time—teammates, roommates, whatever appeared to work. The reality was far more intricate. Far more intimate.

“You don’t have to,” Richard sighed as he sprawled a little more comfortably against the back of the booth. He toyed with his glass, pensive, wisdom so nonchalant it was almost hypocritical.

“Whatever,” Kevin mumbled, straightened up. Richard and Lydia got up to let him leave, and within a minute, they’d disappeared from sight.

 

“What do you want?”

Jean locked the bathroom door from the inside and Nathaniel checked every stall to make sure they were alone. It wasn’t quite that they minded the public eye, it was more than they knew, with unwavering certainty, that Kevin was more likely to open up and be honest when there was nobody to watch. Somehow it seemed a little bit like lying to Nathaniel, but he was willing to tolerate it if he got him a little bit closer.

This, he had dreamed of for too long.

“Don’t ask like you don’t know,” Nathaniel retorted, sharp and offended. He didn’t even glance at Kevin, ignoring the glares sent his way in discontent.

“I can still leave,” Kevin threatened—but Jean was near the door, nonchalantly standing there with his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side, looking at him like one would look at something equally exquisite and intriguing.

“You won’t,” Jean said. “I know you won’t.” And, to prove his point, he smiled: “Why would you have followed us otherwise? You’re curious. And angry.”

“Angry?” Kevin echoed, defensive.

“Angry,” Jean confirmed. “You know what you want but you won’t let yourself have it. Anyone would be angry for so much.” And, with that, he stepped closer to Kevin, feet after feet, as though making sure not to frighten a wild animal. Nathaniel watched it all intently from the sidelines, cheekily leaning against an open stall, most likely waiting for the right moment to jump in.

He stopped close enough to Kevin that he could smell his perfume, yet far enough that Nathaniel could easily come in between. Jean turned to him with a knowing look, and Nathaniel smiled in return. The way he approached had no attention for Kevin, and he felt how frustrated this made Kevin in the far-off corner of his field of vision. If Kevin wanted his interest, he was going to have to fight for it.

Nathaniel, though, didn’t leave much space between him and Jean, breaths mingling before they even spoke. Jean raised a hand in between their bodies, and Nathaniel recognized one of the pills they sold back at Edgar Allan. A hundred per pill, if he recalled right. The smile he cracked was all arrogance, but Jean didn’t miss the way he swallowed in anticipation. He knew very well what Jean wanted him to do, and he understood, now, why Kevin’s presence seemed like such a necessary thing to have.

He didn’t blink as he watched Jean take the pill out of its transparent wrapping and put it on his tongue. Lips parted and eyes half-closed he leaned in for a kiss, but he needn’t lean in that much—Nathaniel was already meeting him halfway, eager and hungry for all the things Jean embodied.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kevin let out, low but harsh, when Jean slid a hand up the back of Nathaniel’s neck. He watched them kiss with a frown, but it was hard to tell whether it was disgust or frustration. Chances were it was all but the former; flashing souvenirs of what they had done in Kevin’s car proved otherwise. Disgust has nothing to do with it—it was denial in its purest form, and Kevin was a master at it.

Nathaniel gripped a handful of Jean’s shirt as he brought him closer, opening his mouth wider, taking him in, breaths scattered and muffled by the throbbing music of the Obelisk.

“Stop,” Kevin whispered. If Jean and Nathaniel heard him, they gave no sign of it. “Fucking stop.” He stepped back until he gently hit the wall, and closed his eyes as his head hit the wall in its turn.

Nathaniel swallowed the pill, finally, and slightly turned to peep at him. He looked almost in pain, trying to block out the sight to keep himself in check. It could have been offending, and perhaps infuriating, too, but it was oddly easy to see how unsettled this made him. Whatever was in Kevin’s head was warring with need, and Nathaniel watched closely as it did. The way Jean kissed the hollow of his neck was almost too distracting—but then Kevin was opening his eyes, watching his by mistake, and Nathaniel let out a soft gasp.

Surprise, or pleasure, it was hard to tell.

“Please,” Nathaniel said, and Kevin was no fool: coming out of Nathaniel’s mouth, this word was more treasurable than any prayer. It was a plea, it was begging, it was weakness and he knew it. He watched in awe, but Nathaniel didn’t look away and didn’t backpedal. “Please stop this and come to me.”

Kevin’s eyes opened in further shock. Those weren’t things he’d ever thought he’d hear from the boy, and he looked so very determined, so very sure. He looked like he couldn’t take more rejection than this from his part.

He thought he’d answered, but no sound came out. Now Jean was looking at him too from above Nathaniel’s head, and the neon lights of the bathroom made them look dangerously attractive. Seduction was an art, he knew, but they were both unreasonably excellent at it. Kevin didn’t have much chance to say no—not when he’d wanted this all along.

In a desperate attempt to take back control, he looked away.

It was all it took to send Nathaniel over the edge, and in no time he was a breath away from Kevin, slamming his fists against the wall on each side of his tense body. “Why do you lie to me? Why do you pretend this doesn’t get to you,” he yelled, and Kevin closed his eyes for a second before facing him in newfound fury. He didn’t like to be shaken that bad, especially not by Nathaniel.

“Why do you convince yourself such things when it’s so obvious you do,” Nathaniel went on, but it was so sour it could have burned his throat on the way up. Perhaps it did.

Soon sobriety would be a distant souvenir and Kevin’s chances of getting out of here intact would slim by the second. He seemed to realize that, too, because he used the extra height he had on Nathaniel to assert dominance. Jean barely blinked as Kevin pushed Nathaniel by the shoulders and hit him in the jaw.

Nathaniel held his face for a moment, taking in what had happened—and when he looked up, he looked more disappointed than furious. This didn’t mean he wouldn’t strike back for all that, no matter how great the lust, no matter how nauseating the affection; and Kevin stumbled back against the wall as his nose cracked. The sound of it was terrible, but then blood was slowly dripping down his nose and to his lips, and Nathaniel watched, mesmerized.

In his back, so did Jean—blood had always attracted him like an unexplainable magnet, a liking so unspeakable it seemed to Kevin it was the first time he’d ever noticed it. He stared at them both, unsettled, and wondered how much more unpredictable they really were. It never seemed to end.

“What, now,” Kevin growled, and hovered his nose with a careful hand as he debated whether or not to wipe the blood. He chose not to, in the end, perhaps because he liked the intensity of Jean’s stare.

“Sooner or later,” Nathaniel said, “you are going to have to admit it. One can only stay unyielding for so long and you know it very well.”

“Then so be it,” Kevin frowned. “I’ll use up all my time.”

Nathaniel almost missed it. As aggressive as the words were meant to be, they were much more than offence. They were confession. It was the proof he needed—the spoken evidence of what he stirred within him. That night in Kevin’s car had been no accident, and it certainly hadn’t been vain. It should have been enough, but it was Kevin, and Kevin had always been the most determined and self-disciplined of the three.

“Careful,” Jean said from afar, and gestured at Nathaniel to come join him. “I have heard recalling the same memories too often makes them less accurate. You might need to renew them if that much happens.” The smile was carnivorous, and Kevin coldly stared back.

He hesitated, but instead of leaving the restroom, Jean slowly walked up to Kevin. Neither said anything as Jean lifted his thumb to his lips and wiped the blood there, smearing it carefully. Kevin’s chest rose up and down with need as Jean’s thumb pulled on his lower lip—and just like that, it was over. The touch was gone and Jean was leaving.

It felt like betrayal, and Kevin watched them disappear with the acrid resentment of someone who doesn’t forgive. Nathaniel was right: he was so dangerously close to yielding.

 

When Nathaniel went out to smoke, he found himself wandering to strange places. He didn’t have time to ponder on obscure things, however, because soon enough the door opened behind him. He didn’t bother glancing above his shoulder; somehow he knew who that was already. He’d had the sensation of being followed outside, and seconds later he could easily recognize the feminine perfume that teased his nostrils with the breeze.

“What did you do yesterday?” Lydia asked as she leaned against the wall beside him. They could almost feel it throb underneath them, trembling with the bass of the Obelisk’s music. It was haunting and strangely satisfying.

“Kevin came to me last night. He was pretty messed up.”

“What did he do?” Nathaniel asked, a little anxious—he doubted it, but the possibility of Kevin having a breakdown was realistic, and he would have hated him for it.

“What do you think we did? We fucked, of course. We always do,” she trailed off as she took a mindless drag.

This meant nothing, he knew. So did Lydia—she could claim whatever she wanted, but one thing she had never wanted was for someone to stay by her side. She liked the freedom of choosing who she could befriend in every way, liked the liberating feeling of being able to own her body without any kind of exterior pressure. Nathaniel had always admired her for that. Lydia had the best of both worlds—pleasure and liberty both, and she wasn’t giving up on either anytime soon.

He, too, had fooled around with Lydia more than once. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, it shouldn’t have bugged him that much that Kevin would once again.

“Mad at me?” she asked. It sounded utterly detached, as though assessing the damage, but Nathaniel knew the answer mattered to her still.

“No,” he said. He’d taken the time to reply to that, wanting to make sure he was as honest as he could be. Now he was sure of it. “No, not you.”

“Kevin, then? What did he do? Did you two fight yesterday?”

It wasn’t exasperation, but genuine curiosity, so Nathaniel turned to her and took a drag.

“Not quite.”

He watched as Lydia’s brows furrowed and furrowed, until finally her eyes gleamed with a sort of recognition he didn’t think he would ever see there. “Did you…” she said, yet never finished.

“No,” Nathaniel rushed and looked away. Then, again, “not quite.”

“God,” she whispered as she breathed out. “God.”

“Would it be that unexpected for him to like us, too?”

Lydia stared, and for a moment Nathaniel wondered if he had chosen the right words. But before he could backpedal or correct himself anyways, she smiled. “No, that’s always been pathetically evident to me.” He thought of addressing how easily he had involved Jean to it all, but it was a useless thing to do—Nathaniel and Jean had always been so codependent and inseparable it was obvious. Surely, their little scene earlier was there to comfort whatever doubts she might have been. It had never been two—always three.

“To you?” Nathaniel asked, dumbfounded. He frowned, unsure if she was being honest—but then again, Lydia could be blunt to any excess, and she had never been one to lie.

“I mean, I’ve always known that. Perhaps the others haven’t, I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I was going to discuss that kind of thing with any of them.”

“Why not?” he mocked as he raised his cigarette to his lips. He couldn’t care less about what they thought of him.

“Come on. Andrew, Riko? Richard, even? He’s got that awful crush on you, that’d be terribly cruel wouldn’t it?”

“A crush on me?” Nathaniel echoed, confused.

Lydia stared a little longer, confused in her turn, then sighed in exasperation. “Forget it.” Silence settled between them and Nathaniel took a thoughtful drag. It was a moment before she spoke again. “Kevin has never been too good at concealing things that are meant to be obvious—fear, anger, jealousy. Paradoxically, he’s the most protected one I have ever seen. That boy’s got barricades all over his self. I’m not sure what he’s so afraid of, but letting go might feel good once in a while.”

“He’s afraid of himself,” Nathaniel let out as he stared at the trees.

“Makes sense. If he wasn’t, he would have reached his full potential long ago.” She was talking about lacrosse, he knew, but there were so many more things that could apply it was sickening. Kevin was spoiling his young years out of fear, and he couldn’t quite grasp why. There had always been the anxiety of being the better brother of the two—the resentment that came with it, the weight of bitterness from both his brother and his adoptive uncle, Nathaniel guessed—but there was more to that. There had to be more.

“Why are you so surprised, then?”

She looked at him like she was surprised he’d bring it up again, but her face softened in the same breath. “Because Kevin is exceptionally skilled at pretending not to see things he doesn’t want to see. He’s the king of denial and avoidance, and he knows it. Anxiety makes people self-aware and observant, searching for minuscule details. I’m sure he figured out he liked you before you even did.”

Nathaniel snorted in disbelief.

“I’m serious.”

“How could he? It’s like he’s in a different world, touching things he thinks are safe and avoiding the rest. He doesn’t mingle and he doesn’t risk anything. He’s just there; he barely analyzes.”

“Does that mean you aren’t safe, then? You and Jean?” She glanced at him but, eventually, found the answer for herself. “That makes sense, too. You two are the most chaotic beings I have ever met, and I have met plenty.”

She took one last drag, even though her cigarette was far from finished, and Nathaniel didn’t try to hold her back.

“Try not to break him,” she said, gesturing at the forming bruise blooming on his jaw. “I know he can be harsh, but all he wants is you. Even when I’m with him.”

Nathaniel watched, agape, unsure what to respond. He said nothing.

It’s only when Lydia turned that he remembered. “Lydia?” When she peeped above her shoulder, he looked across the street and down at his cigarette. “Why did you say that about Richard?”

She took a moment to take the words in, then smiled. “Ask him.”

This time he let her go. Through the soft haze of drugs and alcohol, he could clearly remember the brown envelope with Richard’s name scribbled on the front.

 


	4. seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone manipulates everyone and boys kiss boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh thank you for the support as always. I will answer to the comments left on ch3 asap. Ch5 is half-written and in three weeks it’s the definitive end of my degree, so I’ll get plenty of time to write that Gucci shit. So many things are coming yet they seem so far away, I need to set the plot to get it going. 
> 
> Reminder that Gucci has a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1157367950/playlist/4qRRKO2nhvzRB9ZpeMe73t?si=Gj3gB9mURv-63hnMuIwxZw) and that I’m always available on my [tfc sideblog](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com). There’s also a [discord groupchat](https://discord.gg/kzz9W) on both gucci and perfect court in general so come by.
> 
> I also did a [Gucci fanvid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMyDWB-jbLc) (tumblr post [here](https://wesninskids.tumblr.com/post/172747243157/one-day-ill-make-a-video-that-actually-looks-like)) but only after two days of fooling around with Premiere Pro, so it needs to be bested.

“Shut up.”

Nathaniel’s surprise soon turned into mockery, and he stood there, hovering above Kevin’s crumpled form where he sat on the steps of the Dinner Hall. Anyone who didn’t know Kevin Day would have thought he was out for a cigarette, but Kevin had an infamous liking for all things subtly self-destructive. Surely, this included Nathaniel.

“I didn’t say anything,” Nathaniel mused, hands in his pockets like he was here to stay.

“Shut up,” Kevin repeated. It was harsh, and dry, naked with such fear it was laughable. “Shut up, Nath, I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“I see you’re still not over that.”

“That?” The echo was unnecessary, but it did highlight the euphemism. Whatever had happened could never be described as lightly as ‘that’ and Nathaniel knew it. “Don’t talk like it’s a game. You know it never is just this. You’re fucked up.”

And, really, it wasn’t. It was a lifelong study, it was the ambition of an existence: to win Kevin Day over, to steal every bit of his soul until there’d be nothing left. Nathaniel found he was on the right path, and, if anything, closer to his goal than he had ever been before. He could almost touch it.

“Maybe,” Nathaniel admitted—and it was so cruelly honest it appeared stripped of all its graveness. He walked down a few steps to get to his level and, though Kevin tensed as he sat down next to him, he didn’t leave. “But I’m not here to talk about this, anyways.”

It was all it took to earn Kevin’s interest. Anger dissipated ever so slowly as curiosity took its place.

“Whose business are you getting into this time?” Voice a little softer than Kevin would have liked to keep it, he made up for it with an exasperated frown Nathaniel easily ignored. He didn’t care what Kevin had to say, not unless he was about to answer his questions.

“Yours.”

Kevin snorted. “As if.”

“Tell me about your History teacher.”

Kevin’s disdain froze in place and his frown came back, deeper than ever. “Why would you want to know about my History teacher? You’ve never been interested in History.”

“But I’m interested in your History teacher,” Nathaniel countered with the easiness of someone who’s easily three steps ahead. It seemed to be the case, but Nathaniel had always been a great illusionist after all.

“Fuck off!” Kevin breathed out as he got up, but Nathaniel reached for his arm so brutally he fell back down where he was sitting before. The look he gave Nathaniel was pure fury, but he knew better than to miss the spark of jealousy burning in his eyes. Oh, it was too easy. He was so very close. “Let me go.”

“I’m not done.”

“And I’m not going to sit there while you talk about boning my History teacher. I fucking hate you.”

Nathaniel loosened his grip all at once, but Kevin didn’t try to escape again. Instead, both boys stared each other down as an attempt to assert dominance, and, perhaps, prove who was in the wrong and who was not. It was never an easy fight between the two of them, but Nathaniel wasn’t going to give up this quick. He knew Kevin as well as he knew himself.

“Oh, you don’t,” he breathed out. It was so low and terrible it almost felt like a secret, and Kevin resisted the sudden urge to look away. It didn’t feel right, letting him so close. “And I never said I’d bone your teacher. It’s not who I’m interested in.”

Kevin’s gaze froze again, cold and mesmerized, incapable of finding a way out of this. He was gone for the boy, and he knew it, but he was past trying to pretend he could be saved. He simply didn’t want Nathaniel to win this time.

“Shut up.”

Nathaniel’s smile flashed on his face, as sharp and awful as he remembered it to be, eyes closed. It was a beautiful and dangerous thing, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to ignore it. “Richard isn’t interested in History either, is he?”

His confusion was immediate.

“What are you talking about?”

“Did he ask for references, did you lend him some books? Research material, a thesis? Newfound hobby, possibly? Desperate mentions in an overworked paper nobody’s ever going to read?”

“No?”

Silence settled, and all of Kevin’s questions echoed almost too loudly. Nathaniel ignored them.

“Of course not.”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Did he tell you he’s well-acquainted with your teacher?”

He didn’t need to hear it to know it; Kevin’s puzzlement said it all.

“Then somebody’s a dirty liar.”

“Richard?” Kevin asked, and he was so obviously searching for information that Nathaniel’s dead silence turned out exasperating. “Fucking answer me. What did Richard do?”

“That’s all I needed to know.”

Nathaniel smiled, brushed a thumb on Kevin’s tattooed cheekbone and watched as it took the breath out of him. Then he got up, and, just like that—he left. Kevin’s questions followed after him, loud and angry, but all he could care about was the way Kevin’s skin had felt under his skin.

Kevin followed a minute later, and they all resumed their silent brunch.

There was something odd with these kids—each and every one of them.

It was harder to see it when they were amidst the crowd, lost and found at the same time, ruled but ruling in return. From afar, they were everything Edgar Allan stood for—from up close, they were everyone’s deepest secrets. What they held in the palm of their hands were invisible weapons and nobody doubted they wouldn’t hesitate to use them. They were like that, and, somehow, people around had gotten used to the strange and intriguing sight of their existence. They watched from a distance and wished they could join in, wished they could be part of this whatever they seemed to be, and nobody had ever really gotten the chance to do so. Until now.

“He’s coming,” Andrew chanted as he looked up. Right where the entrance door to the Dinner Hall was, Raj was walking along the main alley to the table he usually occupied. There already sat a few familiar faces Nathaniel never bothered naming, but none of the cliques that could be seen at Edgar Allan were ever as tight and official as the Cenacle Club.

“Raj!” Lydia called with a smile. It could have meant anything from her, but they had discussed it beforehand, and Lydia’s smile had a wonderful charm nobody could deny. It was the easiest way they had come to attract Raj’s attention without raising distrust—Nathaniel’s smile, on the other hand, was chaos in sharp teeth and delusions.

“Oh, Lydia,” he said when he spotted them on his right. He slowed down until he stopped, lingering awkwardly to the side like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to start up a conversation. “Feeling better?” he asked, then, joke as light as could be.

Lydia’s smile widened as though Raj had taken the bait.

“Ah, you know, I have passed the point of ever hoping for recovery. These things they never stop.” She tapped her left temple with two fingers and tilted her head. The night before had ended with a painful headache that’d had the misfortune of bringing out the aggressiveness out of her, but Raj hadn’t minded. It was like he was made for them, already, solid and unbothered by all the discord they scattered on their way.

“Breakfast?” Riko smiled in his turn, and this time, it was as dangerous an invitation as Riko could make it. Raj, however, had always been particularly good at seeing the good in people who possessed none—and nodded ever so slowly, moved by the thought. The look Nathaniel and Riko shared was as knowing as it was daring, but nobody addressed it.

Hesitation flashed on Raj’s face for a brief moment—then a radiant smile washed it over and he stepped closer.

“Oh, with pleasure.” He skirted around the table to the only available chair right between Andrew and Richard, opened his blazer and sat down in mindless politeness. It wasn’t quite manners, it was habit, and they recognized it as their own.

“Are we doing this again soon?” Richard asked from his left, and Raj turned to shake his hand. They were friends, it was easy to see, and the facility with which they spoke was almost ridiculous. “‘Was quite the night, wasn’t it.”

Everyone watched as they started a conversation, too exhausted and too hungover to bother starting their own. Nobody joined in, nobody interrupted, and they felt content watching this strange little show of nonchalant friendship. It was only a matter of time before Lydia spoke up again, nonetheless, and when she did, Kevin and her started arguing almost immediately.

Nathaniel didn’t listen, too busy staring at Richard to pick up anything he could, to understand what lied behind the brown envelope and Mrs. Hertford’s plastic smile. He wanted—needed to know what was happening behind his back. Oh, it wasn’t like all of them hadn’t any secret; it was more that Nathaniel couldn’t stand being unaware and left aside. If he had to be anything, then it was the center of it all, digging up secrets and white lies with his bare hands. Privacy, he didn’t care about: this was his territory and he had all the rights.

Another part of him, though he wouldn’t admit it, wanted to watch over Richard’s naive back. Odds were he had started something he could not end. Nathaniel had told Riko they all were his responsibility, after all, and this had been nothing of a lie.

A problem to one was a problem to all.

Before he could interrogate Richard or pry any longer, however, a tall shadow stopped by the table. Kevin stopped mid-sentence and everyone followed in his stunned silence. Right there, standing a foot from there, was Marcus—hands in his pockets and closely surrounded by his four boys.

“Marcus,” Jean said with great effort. It was equal parts irritation and amusement, and his face didn’t give any clue as to which prevailed.

“Jean.” Nathaniel heard it: the vicious twist of his tongue as he said the name, like it was something forbidden he had longed to pronounce. He glared, but Marcus had only eyes for Jean. Frustration warred with protectiveness as he watched them stare each other down, and searched for Riko’s silent support. Surprisingly, he got it, as they shared a brief brotherly glance—one that couldn’t possibly mean anything for someone who hadn’t grown up at their side. Perhaps did they hate one another, but they cared still.

Marcus was their common enemy, one of the rare instances Riko and Nathaniel would ever seem to be less than rivals and more than friends. It could’ve been relief—but it never bode well.

“Never too late in the season to reinforce team spirit and interpersonal bonds, is it?” he teased, but nobody answered. “I’m throwing a party at my house this weekend. I want all of you to come.”

“Why would we?” Lydia spat like venom, and he finally gave up on Jean.

“Lydia,” he said, brows arched as though he had somehow only now realized her presence. It was as offensive as it was false, and Nathaniel could practically feel Kevin twitch with the rudeness of it.

“Marcus,” she teased back: Lydia didn’t need no savior. “I’m asking because it seems to me that we have never been friends.”

Marcus took it in and didn’t deny it. Instead, he searched for words to balance it out, a pretext that would hold water. Not that there were many.

“As I said, it is never too late to work on what we have neglected. Besides, we have a victory to celebrate.” They hadn’t yet won, but that was only a detail nobody was willing to address: there had never been any doubt they would triumph. “Consider it an unofficial team event if you will.”

“Then I suppose the rest of the team is invited,” Kevin joined in, defiant.

“Of course not,” Bisley answered. Next to Marcus, he looked like a fallen angel, young and tainted, ready to ravish under his command. Where Marcus was calm and contained, however, Bisley looked as chaotic as Nathaniel—smile easy and dim like a bad omen. He was far more harmless still.

“And what makes you think we want to come?” Riko said before Bisley could take it out on either Kevin or Lydia. It wasn’t self-sacrifice, as Marcus and him had always been fighting for the captain position, but it was close enough.

“You will.”

Nathaniel snorted.

Silence followed, dreadful and clean like nobody dared break it. Then Nathaniel looked up and slid off his seat. Five feet three, he shouldn’t have looked like much, but it was difficult to deny whatever Nathaniel radiated. Provocation, arrogance, something somber and poisonous that needed a fair warning. Marcus didn’t step back for all that, and both stood there, a breath from each other, refusing to look away.

“Strangely enough, I never took you for an idiot. I thought there was brilliance in your pretension, but I guess I must have been wrong then.”

“Oh, Nathaniel,” Marcus started—and it sounded terribly, like Nathaniel had started something he couldn’t stop.

Jean got up before he could get any further, and his seat almost fell backward with the violence of it.

“We’ll go.”

Marcus looked above Nathaniel’s head and stared at Jean for a moment. So did Nathaniel, Riko and Kevin, but he didn’t look at any of them. What his bare teeth were saying was a little too obvious, and, finally, Marcus took the cue to leave.

“You’ve always been the wise one, haven’t you?” He looked at the entire table, but he stared a little longer at Nathaniel than he did the others. Perhaps he had seen something there he didn’t like, but Nathaniel wasn’t stupid. It was provocation and he knew what kind.

It was a child threatening to steal what was his, a tempest blocking all exits to have him surrendering. A king usurped.

“I’ll see you all there, then.”

Then Marcus and his boys disappeared to the entrance, leaving the table silent behind. Jean and Nathaniel stayed where they were, tense and ready to fight, as though they expected Marcus to come back any second—but nobody spoke for a long minute. It was deafening.

“I have class,” Jean said before grabbing an apple from the fruit-basket and turning to the exit. He didn’t wait for Nathaniel, didn’t offer them a single word, didn’t even try to catch his gaze, and Nathaniel could only watch him leave in his turn. It felt like losing something—someone—though he couldn’t tell why.

“What was that?” Raj whispered in confusion when everything appeared to go back to normal.

It was only an impression, though, and Nathaniel knew it. He stared at the entrance for a moment and didn’t even feel Riko move to his side.

“Tell your boy to behave.”

He didn’t bother turning towards him. Ignoring Riko had always felt so awful—but right now he had other things on his mind. When he finally moved, he caught Kevin’s worried eyes, and it didn’t take much more than this to understand. What he saw there he had seen before, too many times to keep count of it—something he so profoundly and atrociously liked. It was jealousy, pure jealousy, something equally greedy and protective that didn’t have a name.

“Nath,” Riko said to catch his attention once more, but he didn’t care.

He left as Jean had, without a word, without a glance; a ghost embittered and greatly displeased.

It was too much.

 

Oh, he knew how dangerous it was to drug himself to high heavens right before a game, but it felt as though he didn’t have a choice. There was only so much Nathaniel Wesninski could bear without snapping, and he had promised himself not to snap today. Kids like him didn’t have many cures, not for sickness which did not have a name.

Nathaniel shivered and winced, burying his tin box of cocaine deep in his duffel bag. He pinched his nostril and inhaled sharply, closing his eyes as he felt the soothing rush of adrenaline. He knew full well what would happen to him and the team if he ever was caught red-handed, or if someone decided to put the Ravens through blood tests. Somehow, he didn’t care. Perhaps he was too miserable to in this very moment. Or perhaps he was merely selfish. Either way, Nathaniel didn’t let his thoughts get to him: neither these, nor those which seemed to ultimately wander Jean’s or Kevin’s way. Oh, he abhorred these, for they deprived him of the little self-control he still had. It was terrifying, being denied indifference and restraint, all for two boys who always seemed to put him in more trouble than he could ever get himself in.

“Ready?” Raj asked as he adjusted his helmet.

Nathaniel almost jumped, but the irritation of being caught off guard didn’t last long.

“For victory?” he asked, rhetoric. “I was born for it.”

Raj’s laughter filled the room, warm and friendly, then faded as he walked down the corridor. Nathaniel stayed where he was for a moment, looked around to check he was alone, then wiped the sweat off his forehead. They were on the second period of the game, ahead of four points on their opponents, but Nathaniel couldn’t seem to focus. It didn’t matter that they were winning. All he could think of was—Richard’s name hastily scribbled on a brown envelope; the weight of Kevin’s jealous gaze; how Jean felt inside of him. Everything was too much, swirling around him like a tornado that wouldn’t stop. He needed to breathe.

He needed to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and licked his lips to try and gain some composure.

Then he grabbed his gloves and his racquet and left the locker room.

Everything went well—as well as a game could go against the Ravens. Where they were ridiculously talented, they were also equally violent, and red cards bloomed progressively, taking players out one by one. Their strategies always involved goons of sorts, scapegoats made to take the blame for their best players. Riko, Kevin, Nathaniel and Jean—starting attackers and defensemen in their lineup, or, as Coach liked to call them, their weapons of mass destruction. They couldn’t possibly be secret, reeking provocation and brutality with every step they took, all more arrogant than the previous one. It didn’t make them any less dangerous for all that, that much Coach knew, and as players were benched for the rest of the game, violence only escalated.

It was Riko who whispered names in between passes, heads which needed to fall. He would spot a too ambitious striker, or a mark that wouldn’t leave Kevin alone long enough to score; and in the same breath bodies collided with the violent impact of a car accident.

It was five minutes to the end of the game when Kevin’s new mark shoved him a little too harshly. Kevin stumbled on his own feet and, as he struggled to keep the ball in his net, finally lost it in his fall. He crashed against the ground in a terrible sound, breathless, his mark just barely jumping over his crumpled form to get the ball back. A Raven rushed to Kevin, and their Coach got up from the sidelines’ bench in an equally infuriated and worried frown—and as Nathaniel threw his racquet on the grass, everyone figured he would go check on Kevin. After all, they were the closest on the team after he and Jean, and it was no secret neither of them liked to have the other checked into unconsciousness.

He didn’t even know if Kevin was conscious, and he didn’t care—he went straight for the mark who, blind with satisfaction, had probably taken the game for granted now. The ball didn’t have the time to leave his net that Nathaniel crashed into him full force, with a violence so blatant and exquisite he heard bones crack. The mark fell head first and the ball left his net as he called for Jean. It was needless, though: Jean was already there, face tense and furious through the grating of his helmet, racquet ready to receive the ball as it rolled his way. He sent it to Andrew, who sent it all the way down the field for Riko to get it, and everything stopped.

It had all happened in the span of blurry seconds, and Kevin’s frightening bodycheck had caught all the referees’ attention. What could have been irresponsible managing had turned into an open window for Nathaniel to act, and though his racquet lied on the ground on the opposite side of the lacrosse field, referees couldn’t tell for sure what had happened in their back. They settled on a yellow card as a warning, and sent Kevin’s mark to the team nurse off the field. Kevin was taken care of in the middle of a close and stifling circle of panicked bodies, but Nathaniel didn’t step any closer. He wouldn’t have been of much use there, he knew, and the game had still four minutes on the clock.

He figured Kevin would be out of the rest of the game—and he was right—but what he didn’t expect, however, was Kevin’s furious silhouette straying away from the crowd and running straight to him. The accusatory finger he dug into Nathaniel’s chest felt like a dagger, and he looked up at Kevin in a frown of disgust.

“Fuck off,” he said, harsh and disappointed. He had avenged Kevin, and all he was receiving were reproaches.

“No,” Kevin said, and came so close Nathaniel was tempted to back off. He craved Kevin’s proximity, however, so he let him—as irritating as it could be. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

Nathaniel glanced above his shoulder. The team nurse was running in their direction, and they didn’t have much time left for whatever that fight was.

“You’re spoiling our chances, you imbecile.”

“I’m saving your ass,” Nathaniel corrected, blind with anger.

“No, I’m done for tonight. You’re not saving anyone. This is impulsion and it’s going to get you out of our game.”

“What are you even saying? We’re leading the game, there’s only four fucking minutes left. We couldn’t even lose if we tried to.”

“Don’t tempt the devil,” Kevin warned. “You know damn well it’s not just about tonight. It’s your behavior. You’re spoiling our chances when you do that,” he repeated.

Nathaniel pushed him off lightly, baring his teeth to snap something back—but Kevin was faster.

“You’re the reason why we win all these games, Nath. Fucking realize that. If you’re out, we’re all out.”

“So this is about the damn game?” Nathaniel laughed, bitter—even though he knew what had just happened—even though he knew what Kevin had just admitted. It couldn’t possibly be nothing. Kevin hardly ever complimented anyone.

Nathaniel wiped the blood dripping from his nose and tried to sniffle it back in. He smeared it all over his philtrum from under his helmet, knowing full well what would happen if they ever caught him bleeding. Referees rarely let players on the field when they were bleeding, no matter how benign.

“No, it’s about you.”

“It’s my attitude, I fucking know. What did you want me to do? Stand down and let that asshole run you over? Sorry but I’m not going to let that happen.”

Silence settled again, far from the screaming crowd and the distant fights the two teams had started on the sidelines. It was slowly turning into something big, and they didn’t have much time before the referees would usher them back into the game. Nathaniel, at least.

“So what’s that? You care for me now?”

“Don’t fucking start,” Nathaniel warned.

“So you don’t,” Kevin half-deduced.

“I do,” he spat back. “I do and I wonder why.”

Kevin glared, unsure how to react. They looked like they were about to beat each other to death, but the words they let out were all but wars. They weren’t peace offerings, and they weren’t truces, but they were truth and this meant everything. Somehow he hadn’t expected Nathaniel to be so brutally honest in a moment like that.

He had always preferred war to confessions.

“That a problem?” Nathaniel asked, almost daring.

Kevin took his time before answering, “no.” He left before Nathaniel could even think of holding him back, and Nathaniel figured this was as much reprimand as he was going to get. He watched him meet the nurse halfway and trot about back to the Home bench.

Jean appeared at his sides so discreetly he almost jumped, but somehow, though he couldn’t explain it, he felt warmer instantly. Complete—safer. It was frightening how quickly and how easily Jean could calm him down.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jean asked as he handed him his racquet.

Nathaniel didn’t turn right away. When he did, Jean spotted the blood through the grating and stared harder than he had intended to. Nathaniel felt it, of course, and Jean’s eyes flickered up to his as they both lost their breaths. Worry and confusion turned into a familiar kind of tension, and suddenly Nathaniel felt the urge to run back to the dorms. He needed Jean to look at him like that. He would kill for him too.

But the referees blew the whistle, and Jean’s attention was suddenly brought back to reality. It was like the spell had been broken, and, once again, Nathaniel watched him walk back to his position like he had been hit. Perhaps had he injured himself taking Kevin’s mark out, and not noticed. Or perhaps these boys were simply making him crazy, one minute at a time.

He felt his hand tremble but held it until the shaking disappeared—then somebody whistled again and the game resumed.

They sent Kevin in for the last minute, and everyone stared in distant worry wondering if that was a wise thing to do. Unnecessary, for sure—but encouraging. His presence on the field was as reassuring as could be, and they still carried the bitterness of his last bodycheck. Everyone made it a point to score as much as possible even though they had already won. Kevin sent the ball to Riko and Riko scored without surprise. Just before the game ended, the other team tried, out of frustration perhaps, to score in their turn—but they had to score on Andrew, and nobody ever did. The thing, nonetheless, was that, even though they knew they could never get past Andrew, they knew they could never get past Nathaniel to begin with.

Perhaps is that why they called Andrew’s name from the left inner center, just as they rushed to the defense line. Andrew looked up, both surprised and curious, and it was all it took to distract him long enough. They passed the ball, and one of the defensemen aimed right at the goal. Andrew had incredible reflexes, but he couldn’t possibly react quick enough. The Ravens started yelling at the injustice, thinking they would score on them—but then, out of nowhere, Nathaniel appeared at the striker’s side and intercepted the ball before it could get any closer to the goal. The referees whistled the end of the game and he stared the striker down.

They put their gratings against one another’s in sign of defiance, but then, eventually, Nath walked away with a smirk. He went to Andrew’s goal where he stood annoyed and unimpressed, amusement barely flashing upon his face before going back to boredom. It was a difficult thing to do, attract Andrew’s interest, and an even more difficult one to keep it. Nathaniel was one of the rare capable of both.

Together they walked to Jean’s position and sidestepped the swarm of loud excitement where the rest of the team hugged and yelled in easy triumph. The Coach joined the reunion in the middle of the field, clapping shoulders and offering smiles to whoever wanted some. There, radiating with pride and confidence, she looked as powerful as the Ravens themselves.

“Close one,” Nathaniel said to Andrew as they reached Jean’s level. He stood unbothered, holding his racquet like he had won one too many times to be impressed by it. Andrew didn’t bother giving an answer.

“Don’t let it happen again,” Riko told Andrew as he ran past them and to the changing room.

Nathaniel and Andrew stared until he disappeared.

“We won’t,” Nathaniel growled to himself—then fixed a cold, familiar stare on Jean and Andrew. Both glared back in silence, impatient for something they couldn’t name. The sooner they would get out of this field, the better, they thought.

It felt like they weren’t talking about lacrosse, but nobody commented.

 

Marcus’s house was an immense, impressive thing—the dream of oh so many children. It couldn’t possibly impress any of them, much less Richard and his royal palace of a home, but eyes did linger on every part: the white façade, the wide patio doors and the intricate architecture of a modern villa, with a limpid pool and too many bedrooms.

As they had thought, the party was a small committee of both gangs and unnecessary tension between everyone. At first they sat on the wide couches staring each other down and expecting the worst—but Bisley and Czerwonka put loud music on and Kevin and Lydia found the way to the alcohol reserve on their own. _Hey Lion_ blared from the speakers and Lydia took it upon her to befriend Marcus’s boys—after all, what else could they possibly do here? She bribed them into making her cocktails and Richard stuck around, reassured by her familiar presence in this unknown territory. If there was someone to stay close to in times of need, it was Lydia.

Everybody else mingled quite naturally, but Jean and Nathaniel stood near the pool in their best suits, looking at their surroundings like they were searching for an exit. Perhaps they really were. And when they spotted Kevin, who stopped short in his track glass in hand when he saw them there, they thought maybe Marcus’s party would serve them in the end. It was an opportunity given, as many others; but unlike their nights out at the Obelisk, everyone ended up scattered around. They had all the liberty to grant themselves privacy, to escape the minuscule crowd as much as they wanted.

And whenever Marcus walked by, Nathaniel tensed a little, fearing the moment he would ask for Jean’s attention.

Surprisingly enough, Kevin walked to them without being asked. The three of them stayed there, holding their almost empty glasses, trying to remember what it felt like not avoiding one another.

“I didn’t think you would come see us.”

“Like I have a choice,” said Kevin as he pointed at the small crowd gathered in the living room. It was easy to spot them all through the open patio door, all laughing and nudging one another like they were real friends. It was as disturbing as it was soothing—yet somehow ridiculous from afar. Nathaniel knew Kevin was lying, of course, but the fact that he had bothered approach them was telling enough. He didn’t need more than that proof.

Kevin knew that, too—and so did Jean.

Tension rose and each boy let it. It was delicious, and so very close—they could almost reach out and touch it.

“You look good,” Jean told Kevin. In response, he looked up and stared—and didn’t tear his eyes off of him until Nathaniel nodded.

“You do.”

He wasn’t wearing much more than the usual. A fine expensive suit, all black and without a tie—it looked every bit like what they were wearing themselves, except Kevin always added his own arrogance to it.

Nathaniel brought his glass to his lips and mumbled: “Will you want to join us later?”

Kevin froze on the spot, and neither boys missed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. For someone so confident, it was always incredibly satisfying to take the words out of Kevin’s mouth. They took pride in the effect they had on him, cherished it, longed for it.

Nathaniel stepped closer until they were one breath away.

“Not here,” Kevin rushed in panic—but he didn’t back off. This, in itself, was a victory.

Nathaniel glanced above his shoulder and shared a look with Jean. It was a silent agreement of sort, or perhaps the relief of knowing they were closer to what they craved than they had ever been. Oh it had never been an easy thing to do, getting to Kevin, but they had the impression Kevin was slowly giving up on the solid barriers he had erected to keep them away from him. Ironically, they had never left each other’s side for too long, and Nathaniel couldn’t count all the nights the three of them had spent sleeping in the same bed, searching for that warmth on every bit of skin that cheekily showed.

All this time Kevin had taken advantage of their proximity without having to admit it. Now, there was nowhere left to run—and he wanted more, so much more. As much as he was aware they too did, he knew they wouldn’t let him any closer if he didn’t give in a little.

“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” Nathaniel teased and, with every breath tickling Kevin’s lips, he felt his self-control wavering a little more. “Such a precious thing; such a pristine reputation. It’d be a shame to taint this, right, Jean?”

Jean didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked up to them and Kevin swallowed dry again—he couldn’t remember the last time he had them so close.

When Kevin closed his eyes, Nathaniel felt his breathing hitch in his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he laughed—and Kevin’s gaze locked with his when he opened them again. He could see Jean’s arrogant smile in his side vision, and he didn’t know how much longer he could take it. He didn’t even know how he had managed to withstand it for so long—being apart, holding back.

Still, he knew full well Kevin would never kiss them for the first time in front of everyone. It was a condition they were willing to accept, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t toy with Kevin’s needs a little more: Jean smiled at him and, a foot from Kevin, they slowly hovered each other’s mouths. Jean grabbed his jaw to still him, but Nathaniel grabbed his throat, fingers clenching just enough that he would feel it. Kevin could only watch as their mouths crashed against one another’s, swallowing breaths and moans, deepening the kiss with each passing second.

It didn’t take long for everyone to realize what was going on near the pool, and when astonished yelling came from the living room, Kevin neatly stepped to the side. Lydia and Czerwonka screamed things they couldn’t make out from here, and the rest stared in half-amusement and half-surprise. Not everyone was—but it didn’t mean everyone enjoyed the sight of it. Richard frowned as he watched, then examined his flute of Champagne as though it was worth more interest than the two of them kissing.

Neither boy was drunk yet, and most of the gang had seen it coming anyway. Marcus stared harder than most, unimpressed as he was unamused. “Now what entertainment are you providing. And for free!” The joy in his tone was blank and bitter, they all felt it—and when Nathaniel and Jean parted, they didn’t bother give him an answer. Instead they searched for Kevin’s attention, but the show had made him shy away from them already, and Nathaniel nodded, somber. Later then, he decided as Kevin walked back to the house. Later.

He turned to Jean before anyone could ask them to join the rest.

“Now that’s done,” he said. Jean smiled—but it was oddly dangerous.

“That’s done,” Jean repeated in a polite nod.

“Does that mean we can do it whenever we want, now? Let them stare if they want to.”

“I’d let them,” Jean started, “but if we can’t have Kevin then I want you all for myself.” The words sent a shiver up Nathaniel’s spine, and his lips parted with need when Jean added: “Now.”

 

It was the only thing they could possibly do to get over the disappointment. They really did think they had him, now; they really did think that was it. Now Kevin was probably getting drunk off his ass somewhere in the house, possibly trading his frustration with aggression. It was only a matter of time before he started a fight, and the odds it would be with Riko were awfully high.

They didn’t bother stumbling into a bedroom, and ended up in the guest bathroom instead, all pristine counters and shiny toilets. They had pushed the first door of the corridor, so close to the stereo they could feel the walls throb with each bass drop.

“That was a nice game,” Jean said as he slowly took his blazer off. Nathaniel watched as he did, mesmerized by Jean’s mindless grace. There was something haunting in his every move, like he was from another world—and sometimes Nathaniel believed so.

“Are you talking about lacrosse or about Kevin?” He grinned, all tease and smugness, not that Jean ever minded.

“I suppose we can call both victories tonight.”

“Victories,” Nathaniel repeated as he took a step forward. He bit his lip when Jean took his shirt off and above his head, falling flat on the spotless ground. He needed him like he needed air, he always had. “Those aren’t victories—those are triumphs.”

Jean bared his teeth, and Nathaniel that might be the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time. It was equal parts arrogance and confidence, something quiet and terrible he loved more than anything. Oh did he want the boy, he wanted him whole.

“Kevin’s going to snap,” Nathaniel commented to keep his mind off Jean. It was hard to do so, watching him undress with the cheeky nonchalance of someone who knows exactly what they are doing. The pink on Nathaniel’s cheeks was all but the alcohol and Jean knew it. It was lust, it was impatience. “I can feel it. Give him another night and he’ll come back to us begging for what he has denied us all along.”

“Does that mean this is our last time being one for one?” Jean smiled again. It could have been an innocent thing, if he didn’t know him so well. “We will have to share one another, from now on.”

“I don’t mind sharing you with him. I know you are mine.”

Silence settled, the same kind that had when they were with Kevin at the pool. Nathaniel gulped in anticipation, and let Jean pull on his own blazer to strip him of his clothes. It was even more intimidating, letting Jean take care of it all, with such a clinical and mindless care it almost seemed apathetic. A look in his eyes was enough to prove the contrary, and his skin burned, burned with the need to touch his. Still he kept his hands to himself and let Jean unbutton his shirt buttons one by one.

By the time he was at the bottom, Nathaniel couldn’t find his voice.

“Are you?” he asked, not because he doubted him, but because he needed something to hang on to. Shirtless then, he hooked his index fingers on the waistband of Jean’s black boxers.

Jean didn’t even look at him.

“Are you mine?” he repeated, a little louder. Confidence turned into dominance as he wrapped merciless fingers around Jean’s hips, hard enough to leave messy bruises, and Jean was forced to look. Neither dared smile anymore.

“Take me,” Jean said. It sounded half-hearted, deprived of his playful smile—but the way his voice cracked comforted Nathaniel in what he already knew. Jean leaned in, hands on the front of his pants, and bit the crook of his neck until he felt him yelp underneath. “I’m yours,” he said, “but you’re mine, too.”

Nathaniel didn’t answer—but he didn’t deny. It was all but necessary.

Whatever it was: the way he couldn’t breathe so close to him, the way he felt awake everytime Jean hovered his skin with hungry lips, the way he dreamed of the boy on his knees then violent, how terribly he abhorred the thought of sharing Jean with anyone but Kevin. They had always been this close, even when they supposedly hated each other’s guts. Nathaniel had never doubted he was his. Each day he was struck a little more by how well they fit, by how perfectly they felt when they let greedy hands claim what was theirs, how effortlessly they could understand each other—in glances, in breaths, in silence or in grunts.

“Why did you accept Marcus’s offer?” he asked, voice trailing off when Jean licked the side of his neck.

“Divide and rule,” he said, “divide and rule. He wants to take me away from you. I won’t let him.”

“It’s not what I asked.”

“He wouldn’t have left you alone if I hadn’t intervened,” he said, cold and stern as he left a swarm of kisses on his left shoulder. Nathaniel brought a hand to his hair and tugged ever so softly, grounded by the contact. “Long ago I told you I had your back and I meant it.”

“You can’t keep me away from trouble,” Nathaniel laughed, unimpressed, but closed his eyes as Jean’s hands worked his pants down his hips. It fell to the floor in a flat sound, and Jean slid his hand to the small of his back to bring him closer to him. They fell back against the sink and stayed there, breathing each other’s fragrance.

“If you get in trouble, so will I. I can still follow you wherever you go. Make sure you don’t get yourself killed. Care for you.” Nathaniel drank the words like he had craved them his entire life. It was excruciatingly soothing, to know he had Jean at his sides, to know he was never going to be alone. Somehow it was just as soothing to admit he would do the same for him—over and over again, without hesitation. “Why me?” he whispered against his temple as his fingers slid underneath the waistband of Nathaniel’s boxers. He cupped the curvy flesh there, held it up until Nathaniel was on his tiptoes.

“Marcus wants to be in control. He knows he won’t be able to do that until Riko and I are off the picture.” He breathed out, rolled his hips against his with a confidence that was almost too arrogant for such a mild touch. “He knows the fastest way to get to me is to get to you both.” Jean and Kevin, he figured. He took the words in, accepting Nathaniel’s whispered weakness in the night.

“He can’t get to me,” Jean said as he mouthed wet kisses in the crook of his neck again. “He can’t get to us.”

He was right: they were unstoppable. As long as they were together, nobody could get through—and they were never leaving each other behind.

Nathaniel snorted, knowing confessions were over. “We should have fucked in Marcus’s pool.”

“Never too late,” Jean smiled against his skin. It was a joke, he knew, but the idea still pleased him.

“I fucking want you,” Nathaniel said—and then he wasn’t smiling anymore: he was begging, letting the words out like a silent plea. Eyes closed, squeezed tightly shut, not because they feared to open again but because they couldn’t handle the pleasure of it all. The proximity, the warmth, the scent and the familiarity, how insanely he needed Jean even though they had only fucked once. Nobody had ever driven him so crazy. Nobody had ever gotten to him like that—anchored in his soul, tattooed in his flesh like a promise.

“Then take me,” Jean said then, and it was all he had ever hoped for. It was allowance, it was concession, it was consent and reciprocity.

He claimed Jean’s lips with a moan and, just like that, they were gone—pushing one another against sinks and walls and doors, fighting for a numbing sort of control, lips smashing and sliding and chanting names in quiet whispers. That couldn’t possibly be love: it was worship. Something so terrible and so great it couldn’t be dreamed, couldn’t be faked—it was in their flesh like they had spent their entire existence wishing for one another. Stumbling upon each other had been the miracle of a lifetime, orchestrated by stars and universes themselves, a perfect balance between chaos and tenderness. The sort of love they shared didn’t have a name, for it couldn’t be fathomed by the rest, and they knew it.

It was absolute, pure, it was the kind of perfection Jean had always desired.

Jean tried to hold him there against the counter, cheek flat against marble; but he rocked backwards and blindly searched for his nape with greedy hands. This fight couldn’t be won. Each hit had its kiss, each caress had its bruise.

“Hurt me,” he asked—as soft as a prayer, but cold enough to be an order. “You said you’d hurt me,” he pressed, reminiscing their conversation in bed nights ago.

He didn’t get to ask for more—Jean thrusted so brutally he bumped into the counter full force, and Jean made sure to leave clawing marks on his hips where he held him tight. Laughter were drowned out by whine soon enough, and the louder the music got, the harder they went.

They couldn’t tell how long it took for them to get over the edge, but they stayed there for a long moment afterward—catching their breath, entertaining relief. Jean’s hand stroked one of Nathaniel’s ass cheeks and Nathaniel lazily rocked back against him. The sound he drew out of him was enough of a reward but he still wiped his own palm on the marble, watching with satisfaction as his come stained Marcus’s bathroom counter.

“You should immortalize this,” Jean whispered close to his ear before nibbling on skin. “Make sure he knows to never invite us over ever again.”

Nathaniel groaned lowly and reached behind to get a hold of Jean’s right hip. He pulled him closer and they both clutched on the edge of the counter to withstand it.

“Pull out,” Nathaniel said with a grin.

“Let me,” Jean snapped back—but it was light and pleased, playing along.

They were the perfect match.

 

Surprisingly enough, Kevin hadn’t drunk enough to pass out yet. He was barely enough to trip on his own feet, and perhaps was that why he had managed to make it to the edge of the pool, careless enough that he had let his legs into the lukewarm water. Nathaniel sat on his right and waited for him to start up the conversation they had abruptly stopped an hour ago, but Kevin didn’t say a word. He stared at the distance like it could get him out of here, but Nathaniel didn’t buy into it.

“You missed quite some fun.”

“I imagine,” Kevin spat in absolute bitterness.

It made Nathaniel look away, smug, more than satisfied that Kevin would resent being left aside by the two of them. “Why do you run away from us if you abhor loneliness this much?”

“Loneliness depends on everyone.” Kevin—he didn’t miss people, much less needed them. He didn’t like the generalization of it, like perhaps it would have been the same with two other boys. It couldn’t possibly.

“And are you lonely without us?”

Kevin didn’t answer.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

“Fuck you.”

Nathaniel laughed. “You have since we were teenagers. I know because I have just as much.”

This got Kevin’s attention, finally, and the look they shared was a strange mixture of surprise and desire.

“You have Jean.”

“Jean let me in. You did not.”

“But I was there too,” Kevin defended.

“Not enough,” Nathaniel decided as he took a cigarette and lit it. He didn’t say a word until he took his first drag, but he could easily feel the weight of Kevin’s stare. It was grounding, and hypnotizing, something he could get—and had gotten—used to.

“What is, then?” Kevin said after a while.

Nathaniel turned to him and thought. Eventually he put a hand on the back of Kevin’s neck and held him there. Kevin tensed but didn’t back off, and it earned him another self-satisfied, arrogant grin.

“Don’t move.”

Surprisingly, Kevin complied.

He took a puff and leaned in, stopping short of Kevin’s lips. There he used his other hand to stroke Kevin’s chin, and he complied again, parting his lips without really knowing why. It was intuitive, like most things they did. The smoke Nathaniel exhaled went right into Kevin’s mouth and he took it in, trapping it with lips tightly shut until he exhaled it in his turn.

He didn’t even address that Nathaniel was still too close.

“This isn’t nicotine.”

“This isn’t nicotine,” Nathaniel nodded with a sneer.

Nathaniel gave a side-glance towards the house, but didn’t back off. The proximity was allowed, even though it was only a matter of time before Kevin realized it and backed off himself—he was going to enjoy every second of it. Nobody was watching, and it seemed like the perfect moment, but Nathaniel wasn’t one to act without consent, especially not towards Kevin. Permission was only neglected for so much.

“It’s late October,” Nathaniel realized. “It’s getting cold and you’re out there, sitting by the pool while everyone is inside. Why so?”

“You are outside, too,” Kevin pointed out.

“Stop acting like I don’t care about you.” Kevin didn’t reply. “Stop acting like all I want is your flesh.”

“But you do want it, don’t you?” Kevin laughed—it was as empty and bitter as the other, and Nathaniel didn’t like the sound of it. It was disbelief, or perhaps self-loathing. He didn’t know which was worse.

“I do,” Nathaniel admitted. It wasn’t worth lying about such a thing: they were past pretending all this game was purely for distraction now. He craved Kevin like he craved Jean, and it was terrible to realize he had for so long. How painfully it throbbed in his chest, how badly he ached for it.

Kevin looked at him, quiet. It seemed to Nathaniel something was different this time; exhaustion perhaps. Kevin was too tired not to be honest, and he bared himself with the rawest truth. “I thought you always got what you wanted.”

“I do,” he repeated.

Kevin snorted—but his grin disappeared instantly. He couldn’t possibly joke about all that, not when Nathaniel’s eyes were so piercing. He was looking right into him and he knew it. Kevin swallowed.

“Who am I to stop you, then.”

It was Nathaniel’s turn to swallow.

Even though his hand had left Kevin’s chin, he dared to put it back there again. Mindlessly he stroked the skin there with the tip of his thumb, and watched as Kevin closed his eyes to the contact. He looked like a fearful animal that had longed for tenderness a little too long, something too wild people had called untameable when, really, all it took was a kiss.

“I’m going to kiss you, now,” Nathaniel said. He waited for protest, but there was none.

He glanced at the house again, then leaned in, so close to his lips he could feel whatever alcohol Kevin had drunk. Not enough to cloud his judgment, he knew, but he didn’t dare close the gap. For something he had craved for so long, he was stupidly hesitant—but then Kevin’s hand tentatively touched his cheek and the touch sent his heart racing. They had done such mundane things before, oh, they had—but never so close to a kiss, never so honest.

“Just kiss me,” Kevin pleaded, because he knew if he didn’t do it now, he would backpedal out of the kiss once again. Perhaps for good.

He didn’t move until he felt Kevin’s fingers wrap around his throat. Too clumsy to do any harm, and way less familiar than Jean’s were; they were all but a threat, but they sent shivers down his spine anyways. He pulled him closer by the neck and parted his lips the same time Kevin did, and then, they were kissing, a silent dialogue their bodies had held back all this time. It should have been liberating, but it wasn’t—frustrating, more so, and they asked for more as they pulled each other closer, water splashing where Kevin’s legs moved to follow.

It was a kiss, and only a kiss, but it was by far one of the best kisses Nathaniel had ever been given.

They parted and hands fell back in their respective laps, but they rested their foreheads against one another’s and searched for their breaths. “Did you do that just to show me what I’d be missing?” Nathaniel asked—and, surprisingly, it was the most honest he had ever been.

“No,” Kevin said after a moment, and looked down at their laps as he let himself play with Nathaniel’s collar. There was no tie to pull on, so he simply adjusted his shirt around his neck the way he and Riko always did, fingers brushing against skin by half-accident only. “I don’t want this to be the last.”

“Okay,” Nathaniel nodded against him. He put a tender hand on Kevin’s cheek but it didn’t stay long. “Okay.”

The kiss he planted on top of Kevin’s head could almost have been imagined—and before Kevin could ask anything, Nathaniel was already getting up, picking up his shoes and going back inside. The music got louder for a moment as he opened the door, then got muffled once again, and he turned around to contemplate the bottom of the swimming pool, fingers brushing his lower lip to try and recollect the memories of Nathaniel’s against them. It seemed too distant already.

The rest of the evening, a terrible blur—glass after glass after glass, cracked laughters and dangerous stares, and, perhaps did he even watch from afar when Jean and Nathaniel made out on a couch. If he had joined in, he couldn’t tell (chances were he hadn’t) but when he woke up the following morning, he could still recall Nathaniel’s lips dancing on his. He hoped it was all but a dream.

 

Edgar Allan was always calmer on the weekends. People usually went back home for a day or two—it was as easy as to call for a private chauffeur or a jet plane. Most of the students didn’t live too far away, as Lydia and Marcus did, but Nathaniel thought the way back home was slightly too long for his stomach. He’d spent the entire half hour resting his head against the window, skipping songs on the Bluetooth station and fumbling to roll the window down.

Jean parked his car close to Castle Evermore, as the administration and students were scarcer on Saturday mornings. It was a place of choice, he knew, but Nathaniel didn’t find it in him to joke about it. All he wanted was his own bed, and, perhaps, an Aspirin or two—he wanted to pass out before his body could start to rebel. All the alcohol he had ingurgitated last night, after all, was supposedly toxins his stomach considered poisonous, and he knew parties like these never ended well.

Lydia and Richard parked next to them, but Lydia disappeared before they could even spot her.

They walked along the administrative corridor to take the shortcut through Edgar Allan, and though Nathaniel was exhausted, he didn’t miss the voice echoing at the end of the hallway. He rushed the pace, Jean following with a frown, and the door opened right before him—Mrs. Hertford sliding inside and bumping into Richard.

Both stepped aside and looked up, confused, and Nathaniel watched as something obscure washed the surprise off Mrs. Hertford’s face. It was recognition, but it was something else, too, something like horror. It didn’t make sense.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there. Excuse me,” she said, as politely as ever—and disappeared with her copiesin hand and handbag on shoulder. Nathaniel’s eyes turned and followed until there was nothing left to follow. Richard, on the other hand, looked shaken—but it was hard to tell if it was Mrs. Hertford’s sudden apparition, or the rest of last night’s alcohol.

His cheekbones were as pink as his own were whenever Jean would kiss him, and he stared, a little longer, perhaps, than common manners required.

“What?” Richard asked, and he felt Jean’s eyes on him as well—they were inquiring, asking for answers he hadn’t been offered yet. He knew something was up.

“Nothing,” he lied, and entered the hall.

Richard didn’t follow them in.

 

“What was that?” Jean asked as he closed their dorm door behind him.

He turned to Nathaniel, who was already undressing—nonchalantly enough that it didn’t have any other purpose than simply undressing, even though he appreciated the weight of Jean’s gaze. Nathaniel sighed and grabbed grey sweatpants to put on, shirtless.

Jean only took off his shoes and crossed his arms, ready to listen. It wasn’t a lie, but it was omission, and he didn’t like the idea of Nathaniel investigating on his own without sharing his thoughts. Some people needed privacy; they didn’t.

“This chick,” Nathaniel said, “this teacher. Kevin’s History teacher.”

“Yes?”

“Something’s not right with her.” Jean frowned, and Nathaniel sighed again, too exhausted to think of the right words. “I bumped into her the other day. She wanted to get a brown envelope to Richard.”

He didn’t need to talk about Richard’s courses: Jean had always been the most perspicuous of the two.

“What do you think this is about?” Nathaniel asked after some time. They both stood there, feet apart, searching for an explanation and finding none.

“Ask him,” Jean said, uncrossing his arms. It was obvious he had more to say, but he kept quiet anyway, and Nathaniel watched him as he undressed. Mindlessly so, like he wasn’t really seeing him. Whatever Richard was doing, he didn’t like it.

Finally Jean put his own sweatpants on, pulling on the black fabric to adjust it on his sharp hips. He grabbed a Raven lacrosse t-shirt and stepped close enough to Nathaniel that he wouldn’t need to do more than whisper for him to hear. It wasn’t that they needed secrecy; it was pure fatigue, and he couldn’t wait until they wouldn’t need to talk at all.

“Richard likes you.”

“Why do you keep saying that? Lydia, you? Why would he?”

“I do,” he said to prove his point.

“But you’re not like him,” Nathaniel countered.

“No,” Jean admitted. “No I’m not.” It wasn’t arrogance, it was truth: most things Jean could see, others could not. That was why, perhaps, he had stayed for so long at Nathaniel’s sides, unblinking through violence.

He cupped Nathaniel’s face with both hands and gave him a tender look.

“We don’t need to talk about this now. You could use some sleep.”

Nathaniel didn’t bother denying it. Instead of letting Jean walk to his own bed, though, he pulled on Jean’s t-shirt and Jean effortlessly got the message. He shut the blinds on his way to Nathaniel’s bed, and they slid under the covers in a content sigh. Nathaniel barely registered Jean’s strong arms around his waist before passing out.

He dreamed of murder.


	5. impulsion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raj gets involved for good, Jean falls into a depressive cycle, and Kevin gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t cry my dudes i will edit this chap asap because it’s so terrible, it makes no sense and i wrote it in 6 times  
> yes the main conflict hasn’t been solved yet it’s for next chap. and yes the last scene totally was prematurely cut, you’ll get a full one when jeankevineil happens. don’t mind the typos i’ll go over it later
> 
> [listen to this](https://open.spotify.com/track/6xbozk9YUx4QUC7TmiPSlA?si=GSL9bg8pSvuTg2ClIoMBZg)
> 
> i’m on [tumblr](http://wesninskids.tumblr.com/) and i’m going to sleep now

“What is death, then?” Nathaniel lost patience. Philosophical debates were always a delicate thing to have, especially with Jean and Kevin in the same room.

“Death is definitely liberty,” Jean said.

“I wouldn’t be freer if I died,” Nathaniel defended.

“No,” he agreed, and softly nodded. “But you would if I did.”

He frowned, finding Jean’s idea ridiculous. Kevin didn’t grant them his interest yet, too busy scribbling notes in his notebook and scrolling down a website that, supposedly, had all the material he needed to structure his History essay. Easier said than done, he knew, particularly when Jean and Nathaniel wouldn’t stop arguing on abstract and vain things like death. He wondered to whom death mattered.

“Death is the absence of promises, the erasure of souvenirs. It’s a pretext for change and everybody’s waiting for it. We’re born alone, as we are meant to. Death? It only brings you back to what you are to the core. Selfish. Free. The individualist of the soul.”

“Would you be freer, then, if I died?” Nathaniel asked in his turn. All this freedom madness didn’t make any sense to him—but then again, he was brutal force, and Jean was poetry. He asked question after question like a child discovering a far-off concept, and his brows wavered here and there with the strength of his concentration.

“Yes.” We all would, his eyes said as some kind of unpleasant yet irrefutable truth. He looked up to the ceiling. “But not much more blithe and lively.”

They knew Kevin was listening, somehow, so neither boy brought up the concept of soulmates. It was something they had thought of regularly since they had come to know each other, and they had realized, by now, how deep and absolute such a bond was meant to be. This fitted them perfectly and they knew it, but Kevin was still too sensitive for topics like these.

“Do the both of you ever shut up?” he grunted from where he was sitting, typing something on his laptop. “Aren’t you supposed to get ready anyways? It’s almost nine.”

Edgar Allan had organized a student party for Halloween, this Monday thirty-first of October. Tickets had been given to whoever had paid for their entrance, with red bracelets and the usual dress code. Though costumes were allowed, neither Jean nor Nathaniel had planned to dress up for the occasion—as for Kevin, he was still in the process of vehemently turning down the entrance ticket Nathaniel had bought for him.

It had been three days since they had kissed, two since they had shyly gotten back together—and one since they had agreed to do this thing one step at a time. They hadn’t quite said it aloud, as admitting things had never been their forte, but they knew. Somehow everything felt right again, the three of them reunited in plain understanding, craving kisses and shamelessly asking for them. Kevin hadn’t yet repeated the experience, too hesitant not to run away on the first occasion, but it was there—floating in between them like an acknowledged tension. And, for the first time, Kevin wasn’t denying it, wasn’t actively trying to detach himself from it. From them.

“Like we’re going without you,” Nathaniel mumbled. Jean nodded wearily at his sides.

There was no point in spending the night among a crowd they had no interest in. Empty smiles, cold laughters, never-ending conversations that didn’t lead anywhere—Nathaniel didn’t need much more than the expensive alcohol and the nice suits, the loud music and the thrill of it all. It was satisfying, realizing the mere point of it had only ever been Kevin and Jean themselves. What could he possibly find where they were not? And now that they were reunited like they were supposed to, they weren’t leaving anyone behind. Parting was pain.

“You should come,” Jean said. It didn’t sound heavy with pressure, nor did it sound judgmental in any way. It was a statement, a fact, like Jean knew something neither of them did. Kevin stared with a slight frown in open skepticism.

“Why would I?” It was one of the rare instances Riko hadn’t expressedly required his presence, and student parties were forbidden to the teaching body. This meant he wasn’t forced to do anything more than watch pro lacrosse games on replay or finish his European History essay ahead of the deadline. And, knowing Kevin, both options were just as likely, way more than showing up at the Halloween party ever was. It wasn’t that Kevin didn’t enjoy the partying world—everyone here did, drunk on excess and oblivion—it was more that he didn’t see the point in it. Most people would be dressed up, which he found profoundly ridiculous, and somehow he didn’t quite want to bring himself to such boredom.

Then again, boredom was not something Nathaniel was well acquainted with.

Jean stared back at Kevin and it felt as though they both forgot how to breathe. Nathaniel jumped in, unbothered, with a smirk of his own.

“Jean has a thing for ties.” The grin seemed to cut his cheeks like a knife, more and more amused with the seconds. They hadn’t yet told Kevin what they were keen on and what they craved, and it showed: Kevin was blushing furiously, eyes back to his computer screen. He didn’t like feeling his control slipping out of his clumsy palms, and he felt stupid for a moment, like an inexperienced child or an overly timid kid.

Nathaniel visibly sensed it, because he pushed himself on all fours and crawled to Kevin.

“Come,” he said. It was meek, and soft, like a prayer that was half-hope.

Kevin swallowed and Jean couldn’t refrain the entertained shadow of a smirk in his turn. It was too easy to get to Kevin, way too easy, and he thought Nathaniel was scandalously good at it.

“Come and don’t run away this time,” Nathaniel went on, whisper on Kevin’s lips. His eyes flickered up from them, and he seemed to hesitate, but Nathaniel couldn’t tell if that was for the party or for a kiss. They hadn’t kissed since then, probably because they had spent the entire time cramming on essays and watching Raj from afar. They could still kick him out of the gang, after all—but he hadn’t shown any sign of distrust, and Nathaniel seemed confident in whatever he was doing.

All of them had been absent in the meantime, distant in their own way even when together. Jean seemed preoccupied, Kevin was anxious, and Nathaniel couldn’t get Richard out of his mind. Something was wrong. He needed to reach out before it was too late.

Perhaps was the unspoken reward enough for Kevin to shut his pride down and look away. “Fuck you,” he mumbled, but both boys turned to share a content look and chuckled. Kevin punished Nathaniel by shoving him off with a hand on his forehead, and Jean by frowning at him in exasperation. Neither quite complained.

It was an odd, but pleasant thing, to have Kevin around again. He would do that sometimes—disappear. Be it because Nathaniel and him were on bad terms, or because he was too busy juggling schoolwork and practice, or because he was too knee-deep in denial to find the courage to do anything but that. Each time, when he came around again, it would feel as though he had been gone for too long; which was probably the case. They were a whole, they were ideal—nobody could take that from them and they cherished it in silence. Many rumors had gone through Edgar Allan’s hallways in the past year, most of which they had been the center of. No surprise, coming to Kevin’s unofficial brothers—and from the mysterious, attractive French transfer student who never smiled much. They had to find it intriguing, that only Nathaniel could bring a curve to his sharp lips—or that only Jean could calm Nathaniel down in the middle of reckless fights. Kevin and Nathaniel, on the other hand, they couldn’t quite yet figure out. For sure rumors had gone around about them both, too, but they were vague and frustrated, as though sensing something but being unable to put a finger on the right word.

They went around the school like they had it all, and when they were together, they really did.

“Be sure to put a tie on,” Nathaniel laughed as he went back to Jean’s side. He felt a nudge against his shoulder but only gave a cheeky smile to Kevin who, as though caught red-handed, pretended to type something on the keyboard. He deleted it instantly, softly shaking his head at the nervous reflex. It wasn’t fair for them to make him feel this way, this unsettled, this unmade, and he wanted to learn.

“For you?” he asked Jean.

“For us,” Nathaniel corrected.

Kevin didn’t look up from his computer again.

 

 

Lydia was smoking outside the entertainment building when the three of them arrived—well-dressed and half-reclutant, like they weren’t quite sure what they were doing here. Lydia’s face lit up entirely at the sight, and she pushed herself off the wall. Nathaniel stopped at her right and she blew smoke on his face; to tease, he knew, but he didn’t mind that much. Instead he stole her cigarette to take a puff and then gave it back.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” she said, and her gaze lingered on Kevin a little longer than it did the others. “Everyone’s in and that’s not a party to be in bad company.”

“So we’re good company,” Jean deduced with an arrogant smile.

“I didn’t say that.” Everything was equally mocking and soothing, like brothers and sisters who could never stop bickering but could even less part more than a moment. Nathaniel took advantage of the instant to take them all in, and he felt content for a brief second: they were all there, having each other’s back even when they hated each other’s guts. It was a trust so deep he could hardly begin to fathom it, and he didn’t know exactly to what lengths each and every one of them would be willing to go in order to protect everyone.

It was fascinating.

Kevin turned to complain to Jean, in a conversational tone that was low and mundane enough for Lydia and Nathaniel to ignore them. They started their own conversation in parallel, in a quiet whisper of cigarette confessions.

“So the three of you,” she said, question unspoken.

“Yes,” Nathaniel shrugged. “Yes.”

He looked at her, waiting for a reaction, even though he knew her by heart.

“About fucking time,” she grinned, and after a second or two he mirrored the motion equally amused. “Are we finally dealing with Raj tonight? We didn’t get to at the club.”

Nathaniel considered it for a moment. “No, Jean said it was too early. I think he needs another day or two. Let’s introduce him to the Cenacle traditions,” he suggested, and Lydia’s face lit up again. It looked more vicious than it had before, like she knew exactly how this was going to end.

She had started walking away from him when he remembered.

“Hey, say.” Lydia turned around and stopped. “What’s your opinion on the Foxes?”

She frowned first, as though she hadn’t expected that sort of question to ever come out of his mouth, or perhaps just not tonight. Then she gave it a thought, and crossed her arms in a pensive motion. “They’re pretty fucking terrible aren’t they.”

Nathaniel cracked a smile. “It’s Allison, right?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she growled.

“That’s why you hate them so much,” he concluded, amused by the revelation. “She’ll want to conquer you with that attitude. Watch out.” This was a joke more than a real warning, and Nathaniel, who had been childhood friends with Allison for years now, couldn’t possibly see her as anything other than a safe place to call home.

“Watch out? For that bitch? Oh,” Lydia chanted. “Let her come for me. I’ll show her.”

The way her teeth bared was so reminiscent of Nathaniel’s own dangerous grins that, for a moment, he stared at her not seeing much of a difference. From time to time he would have the fleeting impression they were siblings of sorts, long-lost, Lydia’s white-bleached hair masking the resemblance that could have been. But then again, they were all strange things to one another—not quite brothers, not quite lovers. All things indefinite, indescribable.

Lydia disappeared inside, probably searching for those who had already arrived. When finally Jean and Kevin’s conversation died down on its own, they gave Nathaniel a strange look—one of genuine anticipation, though they didn’t know why. Halfway between haste and anxiety, like they would do this for the first time. And somehow they were: things had changed, now. Everything had changed.

He watched, attentive, as Jean frowned and adjusted Kevin’s collar. It was a tender, mindless thing to do, and it warmed Nathaniel’s chest in ways he should have abhorred. Oh how easy it was to give up when it came to these two, how quick he was to grow soft.

“Ready?” Nathaniel asked, and patted his own trousers to check if he’d brought all he needed. His mobile phone, the tin box of cocaine he brought to every party, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter tucked in, and though he didn’t have any on him, he knew full well Jean brought condoms to these kinds of gatherings. He had always been openly bisexual, and if he didn’t mind going dangerously unprotected with Nathaniel, he wouldn’t risk it with girls. It was one of those habits which would die hard, especially when they hadn’t set their own rules yet. They were tied to one another, but the leash was loose enough to try and hide if needed. It was unsettling, dizzying almost.

It made Nathaniel grin for a brief second, wondering if he’d go for one tonight, or if he’d settle on begging only him. Not that he ever begged, and certainly not someone who was not Nathaniel or Kevin—more times than not, it was girls who came to him, smiles sly and charming, trying to seduce the seducer. It was entertaining to watch from afar, but now that he’d gotten a taste of him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach the sight without twitching a brow.

He asked himself what he would be capable of withstanding, but his knuckles cracked and he chased the thought away. High on cocaine wasn’t an ideal moment to be struck by irrepressible possessiveness.

And neither was chronic madness.

 

 

 

Nothing happened until it did. They were all standing in the corner of the wide spectacle room, students running in every direction with masks and half-spilled cups. This looked like a bad rendition of a high school prom, except they all wore expensive Rolex watches and Prada dresses.

The three of them were standing close, shoulders brushing; and the rest twirled their glasses in their hands, fingers idly tapping in rhythm with the music blasting from the speakers. They had hired a famous DJ for the occasion, one Nathaniel didn’t know, and though the music selection was appreciable, Nathaniel rarely ever danced. The rest usually did, but they stuck around still, sensing something was about to happen. Richard seemed more tense than usual but Nathaniel didn’t point it out. It was a thing for later.

“Raj,” Riko said, and he turned to him, brows innocently arched. He was always so genuinely surprised whenever they mentioned him, like he didn’t expect anyone to really notice him. Nathaniel thought it as humble as it was sad. “Ever heard about the Bet Game?”

“If you’re talking about my father’s hobby, probably,” he joked, and Lydia cackled loudly at his sides. Richard didn’t even react, too busy thinking about something.

“Tonight sounds like a good time to introduce you, then,” Andrew chanted with a vicious smile. It was all but welcoming, but Raj figured it was the character rather than the topic.

“What do you bet on?”

“Anything,” Lydia said.

“What do you bet with?”

“Cash,” Nathaniel smirked as he got a handful of dollars out of his suit pocket, dangling it in the air.

“For how much?”

“Anything,” she repeated, slowly this time, like every syllable was worth a billion dollars. This was the excess of the excess, the grave limits of a rich kid’s boredom. Or rather, the lack thereof.

They told Raj the principle of the game and then decided Andrew would start. Nathaniel and Richard decided to jump in, and Raj was brought into it for the sake of discovery. It wasn’t meant to be harmful or dangerous, all of them way too wealthy for a few bets to really do much; but then again this was the Cenacle Club, and everything was possible.

Andrew scanned over the room in silence as they all held their breath. He was an observer, one who didn’t speak much; that’s why he was so good at the game. Nathaniel watched him from the corner of his eye, amused.

“Five hundreds the girl in the blue dress trips on her way to the stage,” he said, vaguely pointing to the girl in the opposite corner. It was the DJ’s stage, where students arrogantly allowed their way in to require songs one after the other. Most left unsatisfied as the DJ turned them down, but it wasn’t what had caught Andrew’s attention.

Richard went with him and Nathaniel accepted the counter-bet, and Raj sided with him.

They all watched, waiting for the girl to come up the stage. And, at the last second, she tripped over the last step.

Lydia and Riko clapped in entertainment, content with the show, and Nathaniel let his tongue run over his front teeth. He didn’t like being wrong, but being wrong wasn’t the worst thing about this game. It was being wrong again and again, endlessly—to the ruins.

“How did you know?” Raj asked.

Andrew huffed in disdain, like Raj was being offensive. “While all of you were busy looking at your phones or serving drinks, I noticed every single asshole tripping their way up to the stage at the same exact place. You’d be surprised to know how much you can pick up when you truly observe what’s happening around you.” It had been going for an hour now, and it was only a matter of time before someone truly fell and hurt themselves.

“Okay,” Nathaniel accepted, cutting their exchange off as he and Raj handed their money, Andrew and Richard cutting the handfuls in two. “My turn. A grand they meet in the bathroom for a private conversation.” The smirk he adorned was all but innocent, and it was easy to guess it wouldn’t be to talk. The bathrooms weren’t even mixed.

“I follow,” Richard said, but didn’t keep his eyes off Nathaniel. It sounded like defiance, strangely, and Jean frowned as he picked it up. Nathaniel stared. Nothing said a thing.

Andrew followed as well, nodding absently.

“I counter,” Raj said. It sounded light with amusement, like he was having the time of his life and didn’t care the outcome of his bet. It probably was the case.

Everyone watched as the couple Nathaniel had pointed at parted and realized he wasn’t talking about the girl at his arms, but the girl who went to the bathroom first. From the way the trio had been awkwardly standing around, it was easy to guess they were couple and best friend, most likely the girl’s. But then the boy nodded an apology and disappeared where the bathroom doors where—except he looked around and, at the last minute, went for the ladies.

“How come you are so good at it?” Raj laughed at them. “People are so unpredictable.”

“So you think,” Nathaniel said, smiling dangerously where his gaze was still fixed on Richard.

Andrew’s phone rang and he peeped at the screen. “Gentlemen, this is the end of my game.” He smirked, like he knew this would end badly, and then left with his phone pressed to his ear, disappearing into the dancing bodies towards the exit.

Richard took the opportunity to snap back. “Twenty grands.” Lydia arched a brow at this, but they all shut up to listen, surprised by Richard’s recklessness. He rarely even played.

“Are you sure about that?” Nathaniel teased, toxic.

“Thirty,” Richard outbid.

Nathaniel stayed silent and Raj stared, agape.

“The DJ will go for a cigarette break in the next thirty seconds.”

They hesitated.

“I follow,” Raj hurried, nodding.

Nathaniel smiled bitterly. It meant he had no choice but to counter, or the round was cancelled. There had to be antagonists in a game like this. Skeptics.

“Looks like you just countered,” Richard said. Nathaniel found it so obnoxious he felt his hands shake with anger and rolled them into fists to hold it in.

At the same moment, the DJ put his headphones down, leaving the playlist on automatic, and stepped down the stage with a cigarette between his lips. Richard had been watching him since Andrew had started his round, following the unspoken advice of this who observed the most of the four, and from then it was half logic half luck.

“Okay. Okay,” he repeated, nodding though he wasn’t content. He gave Raj and Richard the money, which they split in two again. “My turn,” Nathaniel dryly snapped, even though it was Raj’s now. He didn’t dare point it out and only watched, as impressed as he was intimidated. “Richard will make something he is going to regret,” he said. “Fifty thousands.”

Nobody was smiling anymore. Even Riko stared in a frown, intrigued by the subtle fight that was happening before his eyes. It was hard to follow when they hadn’t started from the beginning—and now it was all too obvious something was profoundly wrong. Jean straightened, arms crossed, pushing himself off the wall to stay ready to intervene. The fight, though, only stayed verbal for the minute.

“What do you think you are doing?” Richard spat.

“Betting,” Nathaniel grinned.

“This is not your business. Stay out of it.”

“You don’t get to tell me what is and what isn’t. This isn’t a country club, Richie. This is serious.”

He laughed emptily. “Serious? Oh, like you and your deplorable escapades you mean.”

Nathaniel glowered. He was talking about Jean and Kevin, he knew, and he didn’t like the way he was being talked to, the way Richard insinuated they were mere distractions. They weren’t.

“This isn’t about the game anymore, is it?” Raj asked the others. Lydia gravely shook her head.

“So you get to pry and I don’t?” Richard went on.

“This isn’t prying. This is keeping your stupid ass from getting in trouble. What I do is something else.”

“Oh,” Richard smiled wide. It was the most half-hearted thing he had ever seen. “So you think these mindless fucks won’t backfire? You think you can screw them and everything will be okay?” It was jealousy speaking, he knew now, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for Richard, no matter how much it must have hurt to see him get closer to Jean and Kevin when he slowly drifted away from him. Richard was something else, something he didn’t want. Not like he did them.

The punch was thrown before Richard could add anything, and he blindly stumbled backwards before pushing Nathaniel and harshly kicking his leg. He brought his knee upwards and hit, and Nathaniel felt pain radiate in his thigh. He jumped at him and wrapped tight fingers around his throat, merciless. The light in his eyes had gone cold, and now his smiles were devoid of anything human. They were mechanical, like his father’s; weapons of their own.

Richard choked underneath his touch and fought for air, clasping desperate hands around his wrist to get room to breathe. Nathaniel didn’t let go, however, and everything was starting to pay attention to the fight. The gang had tensed and gotten closer, both entertained by the action and trying to prevent consequences they couldn’t fix, but it was Jean who stepped in.

He slid a palm to Nathaniel’s cheek and felt him shudder underneath. Then he cupped his face, gently, and turned it to him. “Listen to me.” Nathaniel frowned—but complied. “Let him go.”

He didn’t move.

“Let him go now.”

Jean’s voice was soft, and if he closed his eye, he could almost picture himself lying at his sides in the bed they always shared. But the music was still pumping, and eyes were curiously lingering, most of them unused to such an unforgiving type of violence. Richard’s grip was starting to go loose.

Then suddenly he let go, and Richard lost his balance, caught in extremis by Riko’s left hand.

“What is wrong with you?” Raj asked, not quite surprised, even as his uncertainty gave away his shock.

Nathaniel turned to him, abnormally calm. His eyes answered: everything. “Be careful with the drugs we gave you, Raj. It’s already killed two people after all.”

The students were too distant and the music too loud for them to hear, but the gang heard it distinctly. Raj’s lips parted in surprise, and Kevin’s eyes widened in horror, but nobody dared moved, talk, even breathe. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

Nathaniel went straight for the exit, Jean running after him, and Kevin on his heels; but the rest stayed there, staring at Raj like they expected him to collapse—or to denounce them all.

 

 

 

 

Jean Moreau knew the cure to his deep-rooted sickness was counter-avoidance; a false sense of productivity, of blank optimism. Something that would get him out of bed in the morning, step out this numbing haze he liked to lose himself in.

But then again, it was… complicated.

It happened in waves, Nathaniel had noticed. By now he had witnessed it all—Jean’s streaks of suffocating depressive episodes and then the far-off apathy that always followed. It never lasted the same amount of time. Hours, days, weeks perhaps—each time out of nowhere, for no reason, and with no remedy.

He could still remember how panicked he had been the first time, how uninformed, how terrified. He had paced his room thinking maybe he had said the wrong words, done the wrong thing—and when guilt didn’t find ground to grow in, Nathaniel turned into a scorching ball of anger, forbidding anyone to come any closer to the faceless ghost in his bed. He had known about his anxiety disorder: how calculated everything seemed, how unimpressed and irritated Jean always behaved on the down-low, and the pills, the countless pills he found scattered on Jean’s nightstand from time to time. Juggling drugs and medicine had never been an easy thing to do, but Jean had mastered it long ago, in the art of growing up—in the art of surviving. But the depression, he hadn’t quite seen coming. It was left unspoken, but accepted.

“Jean,” he said as he stood by the bed. He didn’t look shy, but he didn’t look at ease, either, like dealing with someone he wasn’t sure he would manage. It wasn’t that Nathaniel was afraid—oh, that, he was rarely. They were too cynical to be afraid, too self-aware to dread. Too apathetic to care, save for each other.

“Leave,” is all Jean muttered through tight lips. He looked up without moving and they stared each other down for a moment, establishing their quick and informal dominance; it was as familiar as saying hello.

Nathaniel didn’t comply. He only looked around, searching for something that could appear to be helpful, for something that might ease Jean’s pain away. It wasn’t quite pain and he knew it—but he didn’t know how to name such a thing. The void, was what Jean referred it to sometimes, as though having his path momentarily stopped by a bottomless cliff he didn’t know how to cross.

Jean looked a little less like a boy and little more like a corpse, but Nathaniel didn’t mind. It had its own sort of messed up attractiveness, but perhaps was it familiarity: where he recognized Jean’s sleeplessness in the purple bags under his eyes, where he could clearly distinguish the strain of aggressiveness at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t a state to allow invasion, it was one to forget about everything until he would forget about himself too.

That, Nathaniel could understand.

“I can bring you food.” Technically speaking, getting food out of the dinner hall was forbidden—but Nathaniel practically owned this place by association, and nobody really cared anyway. It was as easy as pretending to have bought takeaway.

It took a moment for Jean to find the strength to answer, or perhaps had he first intended to simply ignore him. “Not hungry.” With that, Jean turned under the covers, bringing the sheets with him. Nathaniel idly stared at his bare back, all pale white skin and scarce dark freckles; all mindless scars and drops of sweat. Jean’s silhouette was printed on the mattress in half-feverish transpiration, with this late summer far-off feeling of desperation.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, deep enough that Jean felt the mattress ply under his weight and could almost decipher the way he moved close to his back. Nathaniel took his phone out and checked his messages from the notification menu, prying on his own territory like he could pretend not to exist. Not to other people’s eyes, at least. That seemed enough to be dead to.

“You don’t have to stay,” Jean grunted, though it was more of a whisper—but the rough and fatigued French accent he didn’t bother concealing made it sound rougher than it should have. Nathaniel peeped over his own shoulder, but Jean hadn’t moved one bit. He went back to his messages with a sensible grin.

“I know.” His phone vibrated just as he scrolled down the long list of unanswered texts and Kevin’s name appeared on top of it. “But I don’t have to leave, either,” he added, pensive. He stopped short of typing a reply to Kevin’s text. “Unless you want me to. Do you want me to?”

He didn’t mind the silence that followed. It wasn’t avoidance, he knew; Jean and him had passed this petty stage long ago. They preferred their fights to be monumental, to be bloody, and by now they never ever fought anymore. It was like they had merged into the same entity, both equally incapable of splitting it again.

“No.” Nathaniel stopped again, mid-word, thumb hovering the digital keyboard as he took Jean’s response in. He thought about his next question for a minute, unsure if it was something to even ask. But then he realized: these questions didn’t even need to be asked. Not anymore, not with them three.

He still did somehow, perhaps because Jean looked particularly exhausted. “Kevin is worried.”

If Jean had been able to care and make out the slightest effort, he would have checked the time. It was past the beginning of their morning practice, but Nathaniel was not showing up without him. They were a duo, after all—and he wasn’t playing with anyone else. Sure, Kevin was on the team as well, and so were Lydia and Riko and Andrew, but they played on other positions, with less synchrony, and he didn’t want another partner.

Jean didn’t quite roll onto his back, but he did turn enough to cross Nathaniel’s gaze. He looked up at the rustling sheets, then searched for whatever words Jean decided to silently convey. Today wasn’t a day to talk and he knew that. When Nathaniel brought a hand to his cheek, Jean offered a ghostly, temporary smile that was enough to comfort his decision. Jean’s cheek nestled back against Nathaniel’s palm, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in this minuscule act of tenderness.

Nathaniel stroked his tattooed cheekbone with his thumb and they searched each other’s gaze for a minute. They weren’t looking for anything but one another, accepting whatever reassurance there was in being alone together—even in the worst of times. Then Jean closed his eyes again and Nathaniel went back to his phone, going through his mails, his social media accounts, snorting softly whenever he found something merely entertaining. He didn’t share it with Jean as he usually did, but from time to time he would feel the ghostly touch of fingers brushing against the low of his back in a quiet reminder of his presence.

They couldn’t tell how much time had passed when Kevin finally entered their dorm room. He came in without knocking, as he sometimes did, but he didn’t waste time in greetings or permissions, reaching for the curtains to close them in one sharp motion—then grabbing the edge of his t-shirt to take it off. He was in practice attire save for their lacrosse uniform, and took his shoes off with his heels in a long-practiced reflex. He left everything by the bed and Nathaniel stood up.

“Not at practice,” Jean half-asked, half-mocked, like he was genuinely surprised Kevin would bother skipping practice for nothing much. These reasons couldn’t be explained to Coach, and they would have to skirt their way around it, lying with their bare teeth. To Kevin, who never missed a single lacrosse practice, it was significant.

Nathaniel didn’t comment. Kevin’s worry by text had been enough of an interest for him to think of sharing the secrecy of whatever Jean’s problem was. The permission he had been given in a glance had finally comforted him in asking Kevin to come over, which, surprisingly, he had unquestioningly done. It seemed better, now, to be the three of them, like somehow they couldn’t be complete without one another—like everything would always be wrong unless they were together.

He put a palm flat on Kevin’s bare chest and his gaze slid down to look at it. Kevin’s brows wavered in a clumsy breath, but then Nathaniel’s hand was gone and so was his sweater. Both boys started to move at the same time, reaching for the mattress as they crawled their way onto it. Nathaniel crashed just behind Jean and shamelessly nestled his nose in the crook of Jean’s neck, knowing how much this act of presence would reassure him somehow—and Kevin, he slid right behind and found the usual pattern they opted for whenever they’d sleep in the same tiny bed. He wrapped possessive arms around Nathaniel’s waist and dug the tip of his nose in his red curls, breathing deep. For a moment, Nathaniel was awake enough to draw soothing circles down Jean’s back, but soon then the way Kevin’s thumb mindlessly stroked his naked, sensitive flesh lulled him to a sleep he didn’t know he wanted.

By the time they could all realize it they were dozing off, breaths slow and complete like a harmonious melody that was finally complete.

 

 

 

“Why?” Kevin asked again.

Nathaniel effortlessly ignored him as he reached for the beans with the spatula. Jean hadn’t woken up when they had, and he couldn’t quite remember when was the last time he’d seen him ingest anything that wasn’t pills or desperation. Going out of the dinner hall with a plate full of beans was probably not the most brilliant way to break Edgar Allan’s rules, but he didn’t care if it was for Jean’s sake.

“Nath,” he said and put an arm between him and the rest of the buffet. Nathaniel frowned and looked up, offended Kevin would even consider he could have the upper-hand. If he didn’t want to listen, he wouldn’t listen. “Why is he like this?” His frown deepened, as though daring him to stay where he was—but Kevin didn’t budge. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said. It was so very honest Kevin could only doubt. “Nothing,” Nathaniel insisted, “it happens sometimes. You were never there.”

This did sound like a reproach, though Kevin couldn’t quite tell. As much as the three of them had always stuck together, it was true it had been Nathaniel and Jean all along. Perhaps because it had always been Kevin and Riko, too, or maybe he simply didn’t have what Jean had. Maybe they were simply too alike, too much of a perfect match for him to slide through. He knew that wasn’t the issue they were discussing now, though, and thought it selfish to even make a jealousy deal out of Jean’s state.

“He holds it in, Kevin. He always does. These things, they have to go somewhere don’t they? It doesn’t just disappear, it’s bottled up until it can’t be anymore. He’s overwhelmed.” Nathaniel hesitated. “He’s recharging.”

Kevin opened his mouth to reply but Nathaniel sensed it coming miles away. He couldn’t swear it was what had gone through Kevin’s mind, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

“If you dare bring up lacrosse now I’m going to smash your fucking face in so bad Riko won’t ever be able to recognize you.” Kevin didn’t seem surprised by the threat, and as Nathaniel had stepped close enough to whisper, he stepped back in his turn. He knew full well how serious the boy was; oh, violence had never been a big deal. It was a pastime, an art he had mastered, something skilful and terrifying he’d use for nothing much. Hurting Kevin wasn’t something Nathaniel would find disgusting—it was the idea, rather, of letting others touch him.

“I wasn’t going to,” Kevin admitted. Surprisingly, it was the truth. “But now that that’s on the table, my two greatest players are missing.”

Nathaniel stared, unimpressed. For a moment it did look like he was tempted to strike, but he didn’t—perhaps was he taking in the compliment once again, savouring the moment—Kevin couldn’t tell.

“We’re not your players,” Nathaniel finally settled on. “We’re Riko’s, but as far as it concerns me, we’re not anyone’s.” He glanced at his sides, but people seemed cautious enough to avoid him tonight. For some reason he couldn’t explain, this turned out insanely disappointing. “Don’t try and make this your responsibility. We deal with our own misery, and you have no part in this but this we give you.”

Kevin watched as Nathaniel put the spatula down on the counter and left with the plate.

 

 

 

 

“What do you want for your birthday?” Nathaniel asked, thoughtful. His attention was on the laptop resting on his thighs where he sat on the ground, next to Jean’s bed, but somehow his interest was all Jean’s. It always was. “Don’t think I had forgotten.”

Before he could look up and search for Jean’s gaze, he was already moving, throwing his legs off the bed to sit on the edge. There he seemed so very tall, and Nathaniel couldn’t help but twist his neck. It seemed light enough to be a mockery, somehow—innocent, as a child looking up to an adult. Jean found it disgustingly endearing.

“I do not need anything and I stand by this.”

Nathaniel looked away in exasperation. But instead of going back to the lacrosse game playing on his computer screen, he rested his head against Jean’s bare thigh. He didn’t expect Jean’s tender fingers in his hair, but he accepted them nonetheless, eyes closed like it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

“You always say that,” he whispered, and couldn’t help but notice the aggression he had originally intended was irremediably toned down by Jean’s caresses. It was mesmerizing as it was infuriating, but he couldn’t complain when Jean was running soft fingers into his curls, taming what he thought could never be tamed. He hated himself for it.

“That’s because it is always accurate.”

“Minimalist of sorts?” Nathaniel joked, though it sounded bitter.

“Let’s say it is more that I already have everything I need,” he said. It was soft, and meek, like the words were forced out of his mouth by great effort. It didn’t make them any less true, however, and Nathaniel knew it. His head slid against Jean’s thigh so he could look up, but Jean adapted, sliding careful fingers down his cheeks.

“Are you talking about me?” Nathaniel asked.

He knew Jean could sense the teasing edge to his words, but somehow, it was as brutally raw as it could ever be. Honest, stripped down to the core, like a confused child looking for answers. Jean didn’t waste time telling him how ridiculous a question this was, neither did he try to find a way to deny it. He simply slid down his bed and onto the ground next to him, with such lightness and elegance that he seemed almost mirthful.

When he looked at Nathaniel, though, he looked elsewhere and Nathaniel knew he was—lost, far, far from here. He was drifting towards some place most people didn’t even know existed, and Nathaniel wasn’t going to hold him back. Some people needed misery like they needed air; to feel alive, to withstand the weight of it all.

Nathaniel hooked fingers in the collar of his t-shirt and brought Jean closer. But when he thought Jean would lean in for a kiss, or perhaps jokingly push him away, he wrapped strong arms around his shoulders and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Jean’s warm breathing was as regular as ever, but Nathaniel couldn’t help but stop his own, watching out for panic and distress, wanting to know if Jean was going to break in his arms. He wrapped them around him without hesitation, clinging to the fabric in his back like he feared a mirage, like he knew Jean would disappear any second now.

Jean’s fingers dancing on his nape sent shivers down his spine and he breathed in deep, realizing he could count the number of times he’d ever been hugged on one hand. Tonight, though, it was Jean who needed to be hugged.

“I thought so,” he grinned against Jean’s neck.

Jean didn’t answer, but he felt the curve of his lips tickling his own neck, so very reassuring and familiar. He almost broke the embrace to catch a glimpse of it, but Jean’s warmth was too addictive.

“Don’t fucking go,” Jean said after a while. At first Nathaniel hesitated, wondering if he was talking about this, or something bigger, something like the awful state Jean was in—and decided whatever it might be, the answer would still be the same in the end.

“I’m never going anywhere.” He slid fingers in Jean’s dark hair and caressed like he thought, perhaps, his mother would have if she had been tender. This made Jean relax in his arms and suddenly go slack, burying himself against his chest like a frightened child. He wondered if he’d ever seen Jean this vulnerable before. “And if I go, I’m taking you with me.”

“We should leave,” Jean whispered against his t-shirt. “When we’re out of here for good, we should leave.”

Nathaniel frowned. “Where?”

“Anywhere.” He didn’t expect Jean to break the embrace first, but he did, and suddenly his hands were on Nathaniel’s face, cupping it like it was the most treasurable thing he had ever held between his palms. “I’m serious. We’re young, and rich, and smart. We ask and the world delivers. Germany, Spain, Poland—we could even go everywhere. Russia, Philippines. Brazil and Mexico. Somewhere up North where nobody would ever find us.”

“If this is one of these ephemeral suggestions people make on saddened impulsions—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jean said, face cold and serious all of sudden, and it was it took for Nathaniel to crack a grin of recognition. There he was again. “Please,” he added, like a whisper, and somehow it made Nathaniel’s chest ache. No matter how polite and well-mannered Jean was, he never said thank you more than he was required to. He’d never wanted to abuse the word, to taint it with ignorance and excess—this made exceptions so significant they didn’t even need to be pointed out. Nathaniel knew that.

He cupped Jean’s face in his turn, firm and possessive. “Why the fuck are you even asking,” Nathaniel grunted all of sudden, face tight with an anger he didn’t know came from where. “Don’t you ever learn? Why do you ever bother saying please with me?”

Jean brought his face closer. “Because authenticity is important.” He looked down for a second. “Especially for liars like us.”

“Listen—” Nathaniel almost cut him off. “—We might be liars, hell, we might be bastards, but I’ve only ever fed you with truth.”

Silence settled and so did tension, and, for a brief moment, Nathaniel thought this was the spark that started wars. He almost expected Jean to back off or argue when, oh so softly, his face lit up.

“Only ever fed me with truth?” he repeated. “Are you really sure about that?”

Nathaniel watched, agape, as the words sank in.

“Oh, fuck you!” he spat as he slid out of his grip and got up. His laptop fell to the floor as he did, and Jean stayed where he was, beaming with the light satisfaction of turning Nathaniel’s usual game against him. Standing there, all pride and arrogance, Nathaniel glanced back at him. Half naked and vulnerable, his smile was even more beautiful. “Fuck you.”

Jean flashed another grin, his point made, and Nathaniel rolled his eyes with a grunt. He didn’t like when roles were suddenly reversed—it was an unsettling, destabilizing thing—but somehow he couldn’t hold back a smile of childish amusement at the innuendo. Jean wasn’t wrong, after all (was he ever?), and it was nice to see him come back to life for a while, no matter how short.

Nathaniel stripped of his sweatpants and sat on the chair in the middle of the room. Somehow Jean got up and came closer. It was surprising, but in a nice way, so Nathaniel kept his mouth shut about it.

“It’s not bruising,” he pensively said as he pressed two fingers into his leg, where Richard had kicked him at the Halloween party. It didn’t look red, nor swollen, and Nathaniel was right—it wasn’t bruising. “Good or bad sign?”

Instead of providing an answer, Jean rested his hands on each side of the back of his chair and peeped from above. The flesh was tan and tender, looked as soft as he knew it was. Then Nathaniel was tilting his head backwards to meet his stare, puzzled. He didn’t break the contact when he pressed into his leg again, and hardly held back the sigh of pain.

“Why do you like it so bad?”

Nathaniel stared for a moment, then smiled. Softly so, like he was touched Jean would think of asking the question—perhaps even amused that Jean would be the clueless one for once.

“What other choice do I have?” he said. “Endure it?”

“Pain is to be endured.”

“I don’t want to endure anything.”

“But yourself,” Jean snapped. And it was true, oh it was. Nathaniel was his greatest enemy, and if he didn’t fear pain, he feared himself deeply. Jean knew that. He probably was the only one.

“Does that mean you’re afraid of pain?” Nathaniel asked instead of falling into Jean’s trap.

Jean looked down at him in silence, then slid forward and, lips a breath away from his, wrapped merciless fingers around his leg to dig his thumb into the wounded flesh. He felt Nathaniel’s sharp intake of air as he stole Jean’s, but Nathaniel didn’t try to pull away from his grip. It was useless, with Jean—Jean had all the rights he knew it.

“I’m still learning,” Jean trailed off.

“I can teach you,” he felt Nathaniel smile against his lips.

Both parted their lips as wide as they could before claiming each other’s mouths from upside down. It was an odd position to kiss, for sure, but they liked it still—Jean’s nose gently tickling Nathaniel’s chin, lips brushing where they shouldn’t. Jean pressed his thumb into his leg again, but his free hand slid upwards to wrap around Nathaniel’s throat and hold him there, possessive. Strangely safe. Tongues met in silence and, when they were done with the motion, they stayed there, entangled like that was exactly where they were supposed to be. They deeply believed it.

“It’s just pain,” Nathaniel mocked when Jean’s fingers caressed his legs, as though trying to erase the damage they had done. Not guilty—but soft anyway.

“It’s never just pain.” Slowly, Jean withdrew and straightened, taller than he’d ever been over Nathaniel’s head. “Pain doesn’t need a meaning,” he said, “but it’s never just pain.”

It was hardly intelligible, but Nathaniel heard it anyway: all the hurt in Jean’s voice, all the remnants of his past sufferings. Jean Moreau was one damaged being and it was one of the rare instances he let his guard down enough to remind him. Nathaniel stared, mesmerized, then reached out to stroke his cheek. Even from upside down, Jean was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Ever possessed.

 

 

Jean slowly and predictably went back to his silent grief after that. As soon as the day after, he removed himself for all interactions, all events, all things overall—missing classes and practice and conversations, but being content turning into a ghost. Nathaniel respected it, and Nathaniel found refuge in Kevin and Riko’s room, in the expensive and luxurious decor or Castle Evermore. Riko was out, and Jean was asleep in his bed.

“It’s still not bruising,” Nathaniel remarked, pensive.

He hadn’t even noticed how quickly Kevin had approached, and barely had the time to register what was happening that Kevin’s fingers were already digging in—just like Jean’s had been earlier—but wicked, with the intention of hurting and hurting and hurting.

“Fuck!” Nathaniel cried out in pain. Kevin knew it was coming before it was even there but he didn’t dodge. The hit landed on his jaw and he almost lost his balance. Both stared at one another, silence stunned and heavy in between them, and Kevin pressed on his leg again. This time Nathaniel only struggled to keep the moan in, and Kevin leaned in to rest his forehead against his. Nathaniel grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled, oh so lightly; it looked like an invitation, like an endearing encouragement, and Kevin dug harder.

It was painful, oh it was, like being hit again and again. He took a sharp intake of air and nudged Kevin’s cheek, asking for something, though he didn’t know what. It was arousal, pure arousal, and Kevin knew it.

Before it could get any further Nathaniel wrapped a tight, stern hand around his wrist. He held him there, forbidding to move and forbidding to leave. Their gaze held on for a long while, and, eventually, Kevin eased himself off to back away. Whatever sort of sudden boldness had gone through him was gone now, and Nathaniel straightened in annoyance.

“If you call Lydia again I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you.”

Kevin huffed, irritated. “You can’t forbid me.”

“I’m not being jealous,” Nathaniel said as he got up. “I’m reminding you I’m right there, right now.”

At the same time, however, the door opened and Lydia idly walked in. Silence settled, only troubled by the way the door closed itself loudly behind her, and they all stared at one another in half-surprise. “Oh. Interrupting something?”

“You already called her,” Nathaniel deduced.

Kevin looked away, as though feeling guilty. He visibly feared hurting Nathaniel’s feelings, but the second after Nathaniel was smiling wide, stepping closer.

“You want to fuck her?” Lydia didn’t step in, eyes intent on Kevin as they waited for his answer. He gave none but they knew. “Then fuck us both.”

Kevin held his breath. “What?”

“I said fuck us both,” Nathaniel repeated, a little more harshly.

It sounded like a test, like if he gave the wrong answer, Nathaniel wouldn’t forgive him for it. Kevin stayed careful at first, but then Lydia was walking to Nathaniel and he couldn’t do anything but watch as Lydia slid a hand to his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. It was no big deal; Nathaniel and Lydia had fucked before.

The only novelty, in fact, was Nathaniel and Kevin, and that’s what got his blood pumping in his ears as he watched Nathaniel and Lydia’s tongues mindlessly slide against each other’s. It was fascinating, but he refused to admit that was mostly because he wanted the boy.

Oh, he wanted him mad.

Nathaniel turned his head to watch him, expression blank but eyes glinting in the semi-darkness of Kevin’s room. Lydia left wet kisses in the crook of his neck and he grinned, letting her and bringing a tender hand to her hair.

“Say,” he grinned wider. “Do you want me as much as you do her or do you want me more?”

Kevin looked away for a second—but couldn’t stop himself from watching. He slid his gaze to where Nathaniel was cupping his own crotch, always more aroused than he should have been. He pulled on Lydia’s red t-shirt and she pulled his running shorts down, and then Kevin fell back against his bed, sitting so close to the edge he thought he was falling.

They didn’t force him to do anything, and one word would have been enough to stop. But, no matter how many times Kevin attempted to tear his eyes off, he didn’t tell them to stop.

Every second sped up and soon they were hungrily kissing each other, feet away from him, both so openly naked before his eyes that it was almost comfortable. He had hooked up with Lydia countless times before, sometimes for fun, sometimes for distraction and, even, a time when he thought they could be more than friends—only to realize that, in the end, he didn’t have enough room for anyone else. He already had too much to think of, and it wasn’t hard to guess about who.

As for Nathaniel, he had seen him in the showers again and again and again, but now, it was getting harder and harder not to stare—even harder not to give it importance. Nakedness had always been comfort up till now; and now, it was arousal.

He flushed furiously when Lydia wrapped a confident hand around Nathaniel’s cock and pulled.

“Stop,” he whispered. The room was silent enough that they heard it.

They both turned, faces red and bodies already warm enough to sweat. Nathaniel asked for distress or anger in his eyes, but he found nothing. It was so terribly confusing, and Kevin looked lost.

It took a minute for Nathaniel to realize he was being jealous.

And, though he usually would have mocked him for it, Kevin looked too lost. He stepped away from Lydia and stood before Kevin, his eyes shyly examining his body like he wasn’t quite allowed to. Nathaniel found it oddly lovely.

“Do you really want me to stop?” he asked. It was serious, so Kevin went for honesty.

“No,” he breathed out.

Nathaniel’s smile appeared, ever so slowly, a genuine and strange thing Kevin felt like immortalizing. He didn’t have the time because, already, Nathaniel was leaning and wrapping arms around him in a tenderness he only used with Jean. Lydia watch it from afar, eyes intense.

They caught each other’s lips as shyly as they had the first time; but it took only two or three seconds for them to open their mouths wider and let each other in. Kevin’s hands slid up his bare thighs to his hips, nails digging in. They parted just long enough to breathe.

“Do you really want this?” Nathaniel asked. It wasn’t that big of a deal, he knew: Nathaniel liked the pain of submission, and how easy still it was to remain in control in such positions but, mostly, he didn’t want Kevin to be afraid. He didn’t want the boy to run away, to change his mind, to let fear win him over as it always had in the past. He wanted him too bad to let it happen. He would bottom without even questioning it, leaving Kevin more time to figure this out and brace himself.

He pictured the two of them with Jean and felt his guts twist with desire.

Kevin swallowed, holding his gaze as he hesitated. He leaned in without breaking eye contact as an answer, lips crashing against his stomach to leave a trail of kisses. He stopped at the base of his cock and watched Nathaniel’s breath hitch visibly. Then he slid his hands up the back of Nathaniel’s thighs again and glanced at Lydia.

She’d been waiting for permission to join in, standing aside just in case they chose to stay alone in the end. But they knew her too well now, and this meant nothing; not what it meant with the two of them anyway. Lydia walked to them and bent down to kiss Kevin as Nathaniel watched, running pensive fingers against his own lips.


	6. punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something bad happens, yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly I hate every single word of this legit not kidding I feel like i've lost the gucci style  
> and my mind wasn't inspired at All but I know it's the first draft and I gotta push it till it comes otherwise i'll never write  
> so the chances are i'll delete this later or heavily edit it I don't know but at least i'm back into it  
> i'm very sorry for how bad it is you don't deserve this as of 2019 but y'know! this bitch can't write.  
> my tumblr is @wdng but you can holla at me at @jeanjosten particularly. missed yall.

 

 

Sex was a mundane, careless thing for all of them. From those who hadn’t touched anyone else to those who couldn’t sleep alone, no difference was made: their world was a world of luxury and lasciviousness people could only watch from the outside.

Kevin couldn’t forget the words Nathaniel had said the night before—and, though he had woken up alone, deprived of the two warm bodies he had fallen asleep in between, naked and comfortable, he didn’t mind any of it. Surely, he wished Nathaniel was there—and Jean, too—and oh how it hurt. In a good, senseless kind of way. He realized only now what both these boys meant; not a distraction, not some kind of friends, and not brothers of the sort. They were home. And whenever they got too distant, he’d get sick to the core, clawing his insides as though to end his misery himself.

Nathaniel, on the other side, woke up against Jean’s back. He felt him twitch under the weight of his jaw and rolled on his back to let him go. Jean took a moment, then, free of movement, slowly got out of bed to put a sweater on. He turned to Nathaniel as he did so, eyes wondrously curious. They didn’t judge, but something glinted still, like a tiny bit of amusement mixed with envy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Where were you last night?”

Nathaniel breathed out heavily. He ran a hand in his hair and gave a sly smile at the memories surfacing again. “At Kevin’s. Riko wasn’t there, but Lydia was.”

“Lydia? What’d she gotta do with all of this?” Jean asked.

If anything, Nathaniel didn’t reply. He didn’t want to. He sat upright, delight to feel Jean’s indifferent gaze examining his bare body. It wasn’t something to feel intimidated by—they knew each other by heart, after all—but it still sent a shiver down his spine.

“I get it,” Jean shook his head, like he had figured it all out. Which he probably had.

“What?”

“You don’t want to share him. You’re mad he sleeps with her, so you think having them both is the only way to have him. I thought girls didn’t interest you that much?”

“And they don’t,” Nathaniel agreed, looking back at Jean like he was everything. Sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. He got out of bed in his turn and walked up to him, putting a palm against his sternum before pushing brutally. Jean stumbled for a bit, but not enough to lose his balance; Nathaniel was so small and so predictable. He could have seen the gesture as provocation, but he was too tired to play that game.

“I’m not jealous,” Nathaniel then said.

“Really?”

“No. He should be with us. That’s how it should be. I’m just helping him.”

“You’re helping,” Jean repeated, mocking.

Nathaniel dodged it with a switch of topics. “Feel better?”

Jean took a long minute to answer to that, finding the way into his uniform pants as he wondered whether he should let him get away with this or not. In the end, he knew Nathaniel wouldn’t last that long and would probably end up launching the subject again whenever Kevin would or wouldn’t show his face. He hoped Kevin wasn’t going to shy away even more, but that, he didn’t say.

“I guess so.”

“Does that mean you’re back in practice?”

“I’m back, period,” Jean said, and the stern way he announced it made Nathaniel shiver once more. The authority he was suddenly showing was endearing, mesmerizing—something he loved about him. Had it been Riko, he would have crackled and walked away; but this was Jean, and he could hear his blood pump in his ears.

He leaned in as though to kiss Jean but dodged his lips at the last moment. Jean let a groan out as Nathaniel turned around like nothing had happened. “We’re out tonight. You, me, Kevin.”

“Lydia?” he teased.

“No girls allowed. In fact, nobody allowed at all,” he smiled.

 

 

 

The dinner hall was already full when Jean and Nathaniel arrived, Raj trailing behind like a stray dog. He looked in his element with them, in the thrill of danger and impulsion, but he always seemed to stay in his place somehow, like he wouldn’t know what to do if he had to take control in his turn. Fortunately, it was Riko’s role.

Though not for long.

“What are we doing tonight?” Lydia asked as she mindlessly cut her piece of bacon.

Riko had a leg over the armrest, royally sitting at the end of the table like he was awaiting his whole court. He was about to reply when Nathaniel cut off, sitting down at the closest seat, running a hand on the red velvet:

“Nothing. Jean, Kevin and I are out tonight. Plan without us.”

“Out?” Riko repeated, exasperated. “Where at?”

“Like I’m gonna tell,” Nathaniel cackled.

Riko hissed something but Raj and Richard started greeting each other at the same time and covered all the noise. It’s at this moment that Kevin entered the hall and, suddenly aware of his surroundings, slowed down the pace in the main alley. It was like he couldn’t decide between going in or going home.

There wasn’t much of a choice, and he knew it.

Nathaniel tapped Jean’s thigh under the table and they both turned their heads towards him. Nobody else seemed to pay attention to what was happening, except Lydia, who looked up when both boys moved. The three of them watched him arrive, sit, and fetch food in silence, uninterested by the obvious weight of their gaze. They didn’t care about being discrete, they wanted to not be ignored.

Which was exactly what Kevin was doing right now.

Nathaniel tried to find comfort in the fact that he was ignoring Lydia, too.

“Still out?” Riko laughed in his seat and Nathaniel shot him a dark look.

“What are you talking about?” Richard stepped in, innocently. Nathaniel couldn’t help but give him a lingering look, in his turn, wondering when he’d come and tell the truth about whatever was happening in his back. Suddenly he felt the wave of agression coming over, rushing over him like a storm would; unable to control himself.

“Plans you’re not part of,” he snapped.

Kevin looked up—among others—in surprise, but it wasn’t to judge the way he had suddenly pushed Richard away. It was, and he knew it, to make sure he was included in whatever Nathaniel’s plans were.

He smiled from the side but didn’t give any indication to Kevin, who searched for Jean’s help.

Jean only nodded, swiftly, calmly, like he always did whenever Nathaniel played his games solo. Could they call him solo, though, when his whole world revolved around them both?

Jean knew they were going to the outlook tonight. Nothing special, nothing sexual, just a night to drink through above the city. They thought they’d rather be alone in this special time, and they were right, because Kevin seemed instantly relieved.

This sick, twisted sense of jealousy and possessiveness and obsession never quite left them, ever. It was still there, waiting for an occasion to resurface, to act out, to be shown with something that looked like pride. Kevin was proud to belong to them, and they were proud to belong to Kevin, and it had been this way for about forever. Nathaniel couldn’t remember when it had started, only the sharp memories of either turning away from him in heart-wrenching souvenirs. It’s not that he didn’t like to be told ‘no’, though he really didn’t—it was that this quiet understanding between them was the foundation of their odd, sacred relationship, and, like an amendment, it couldn’t be broken—only renewed.

Lydia’s eyes didn’t leave them as they went on with their petit-déjeuner. She examined from afar, envied, tried to imagine what it would be like to be in such a triad, such an unbreakable balance that nothing could actually tear them apart. She just couldn’t.

She swallowed distractedly and looked away, and soon enough everyone else did, minding their business again. They were used to the three of them being in the middle of restless drama, after all, even though it didn’t usually involve sleeping with a guy.

He didn’t seem changed, not really. If anything he looked more like himself—but lost, anxious, like he didn’t know if he regretted what he had impulsively done or not.

A look in Nathaniel’s direction was enough to remember, though. It always was.

Breakfast went on peacefully or so, with only a few jokes from Lydia which only Nathaniel and Kevin could understand. Nathaniel would look up and stare, whereas Kevin would choke on his food, attracting more attention to himself than there already was; but it was fine. It’s not that they wanted to keep it secret. Lydia had probably told all about it to someone before it was even time to eat, and her tongue remained quiet only for the ‘important things’. Sleeping with two boys surely wasn’t one of them.

Then Richard and Nathaniel got up to go to class, and Nathaniel picked up the pace to get to him, brutally clasping a hand around his arm and pulling him aside in the wide luxurious corridor adjoining the tall hall doors.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happening?”

“What do you mean?” Richard said, confused.

“You know damn well what I mean. All this business with Kevin’s History teacher.”

Richard visibly blushed and Nathaniel knew he had touched something important.

“There we go.”

“Nothing happened,” he snapped, suddenly defensive.

“You should have told me. You know it’s illegal.”

“Illegal? Come on,” he whispered, agressive in his turn, “you deal drugs and you think this sort of things are worst?”

“I didn’t say they were worst. I’m just saying you should have fucking told me.”

“Why?” he laughed, bittersweet.

“Because if you get in trouble it’s not Riko who’ll give a shit, especially if you’re boning Tinsley Gaskill.”

“I’m not boning her.”

“Then what do you call this?”

“Come on, like you care. I could say the same with Kevin and you.”

Nathaniel was taken aback. “Lydia told you?” he asked, half-surprised.

“She didn’t. But I was right, apparently. I bet you’ve been at it for months,” Richard spat.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“You,” he snapped, and wiggled his arm out of his reach. Then he ran away in a second, and Nathaniel could only watch him leave in awe. He didn’t know what was wrong with Richard, but there seemed to be more than he thought.

To hell what he’d think anyways. Kevin, Jean and him had been a thing for long now, even if Kevin didn’t know it yet. They had been waiting, preparing him, trying to make him at ease, trying to make him understand—and now he was slowly, slowly opening his eyes. It would take the time it needed to take. It was not Richard’s business, but it was no secret. Everyone could see it.

The whole campus always whispered on their way, watching in forlorn confusion like they were some kind of unattainable mystery. Rumors went on on everyone and anyone, mostly false, but when it came to this gang, the target was more often hit than not. This odd trio had been a trio long enough for people to think something was up with them, following them whenever they crossed people’s paths. They were rich freaks people like to feed on, an untamable source of interest.

Who they really were, they’d never know.

Nathaniel barely knew himself.

 

“He hasn’t said a word all day,” Nathaniel commented to Jean as they leaned against the Law building’s stairs rail. Jean had his arms crossed against his chest, examining his surroundings like he already had too many times, like people were too uninteresting for his mindless gaze—and Nathaniel enjoyed a cigarette as they waited for Lydia.

“He’s gonna come to us again. Why do you keep worrying about that?”

“Because he’s… unstable.”

“And you’re not?” Jean laughed.

It could have been interpreted as agression, but Jean was right, so he let it go. He took a drag of his cigarette and sent it flying in the air when Lydia finally arrived down the stairs. She put her hand on the railing and looked at both the boys, content.

“You’re not gonna believe who aced her exam again.”

“You?” Jean said, unimpressed.

She nodded. “Unbelievable, right? It’s almost like… I’m smart.”

Nathaniel tried to hold it back in, but couldn’t: “It’s not gonna get you Kevin for all that.”

Lydia glanced at him with a smile, both surprised and amused. She didn’t look offended, fortunately, but she so easily could have been that Nathaniel didn’t know what to do when their eyes met.

“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to say that.”

“Really?”

“C’mon, I saw you looking at him yesterday. You’re not a sharer.” She peeped at Jean, then, and cleared her throat theatrically. “I mean not all the time.”

Jean looked up from his phone, confused to have been so subtly involved in the conversation, but the topic was already switched.

“Where are you going tonight?” she asked, and, when she spotted Nathaniel’s lingering look, added: “Don’t worry, idiot. I’m not going to bring my pretty ass over there. Unless maybe… nah, kidding,” she laughed when Nathaniel shot her a look again.

“The outlook,” Jean said.

“Is that where you both go to make out in secret? Not that you don’t have a room for that.”

“We don’t ‘secretly make out’, Nathaniel specified.”

“Oh excuse me. You secretly fuck, right.”

Jean laughed, but it was hard to tell what kind of laughter that was. Nathaniel felt it was lost somewhere between vague amusement and secondhand irritation, but that’s how Lydia was after all. She was as provocative and terrible as Nathaniel, or Riko, or any of the boys for that matter. That’s how she’d earned her place in the gang.

He wondered where he could push it, to what extent it could hold until it’d break. Being in a gang didn’t mean they couldn’t hate each other and he knew that. That’s what Riko and Nathaniel had been doing for years.

“Why the outlook?”

“That’s where we like to drink.”

“So you’re getting Kevin drunk, aren’t you?” she commented.

“If he wants to.”

“Come on, he’d steal my vodka if he knew where I hide it.”

Nathaniel suddenly stopped on his tracks and Lydia turned around. He looked intimidating, as always, ready to be a little less of himself and a little more of his father,eyes sharp like knives and tongue ready to slit.

“We have an understanding, you and me. Is that clear?”

“What, Kevin?” she laughed. “I know. He’s yours.” She didn’t say whether she wanted him too or whether she didn’t, but it was useless: Nathaniel’s rules were impossible to bend or break. They were here, sacred, and the contrary meant punishment. She knew he would have no mercy, friends or not—when it came to his boys.

His boys.

“What do you make of Raj?” Lydia asked when they walked again, towards the dormitary.

“He’s…” Nathaniel started, but then a familiar silhouette drew herself from the crowd and he shut up. “Allison?”

She looked up at the mention of her name, then smiled warmly, something she rarely ever did. Or, something she rarely ever did when it wasn’t Nathaniel, more likely.

“Why are you here?”

“Hello to you too, brother.”

“Don’t call me that,” he winced.

“Whatever,” Allison rolled her eyes. She nodded in Jean’s direction, who nodded back tiredly, and then her gaze was set on Lydia. They looked alike physically—same tall height, same light hair, except Allison’s wasn’t bleached. They both were pretty and rich and petty, and this seemed to be a detail Nathaniel had forgotten. It was so highly important.

“Look who we have here,” Allison sang.

“Allison.”

“Looking good,” Allison replied, but it was hard to tell whether it was sincere or not.

Silence stretched between them and Nathaniel counted the seconds. People walked by them, boys stared them down as always, but nobody seemed to pay attention to the tension between both girls. She was, after all, Nathaniel’s best friend, and Lydia could not comprehend why.

“I’m here for a few days, maybe less,” she said without taking her eyes off Lydia.

“Hopefully less.”

“Shut up.” They glared at each other for a hot second.

“Crashing at your place, then? Or I can find myself the best hotel in town, no big deal. I don’t want to interrupt whatever you do with your sweetheart.”

“I’m not a sweetheart,” Jean frowned.

“Whatever,” she said as she checked her nails. Her and Lydia looked alike so much in every gesture it was almost disturbing, but Nathaniel didn’t point it out. The girls couldn’t handle each other—and if they could, they didn’t want to. Not now at least. “So?”

“No you’ll be fine. Come at our place, nobody ever checks the dorms.”

“And you?”

“I’ll sleep in his bed,” Nathaniel shrugged, pointing vaguely towards Jean, towering over him like a safeguard. He looked so old and intimidating from above, like he had seen everything—and he pretty much had.

“For a change,” Jean snickered.

Allison gave him an amused look while Lydia tried to slip away from the conversation, visibly annoyed by her presence. The problem was: they were too alike. From the same breed, like sisters, a rivalry nobody really knew when or why started. Now the deal was sealed, for what it seemed like forever, and Nathaniel couldn’t do a thing about it.

“Riko and the gang are going out tonight. So are we, with Kevin.”

“So what? I’ll stay alone in the dorm? What a boring way to welcome me here again.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to stay busy. Besides, you won’t be alone. Lydia has another exam tomorrow she has to work for. She’ll be in her own dorm all night.”

“Work for,” Lydia mocked, like she needed any work to succeed. She was way too smart for that, born in a family of business and law, made to become grand. It was easy for such a girl to climb the social ladder and ace all exams on her way. It sometimes got on people’s nerves, but that was only envy—something that happened a lot with the gang. Not that they cared, really.

“Hell no, I’m not spending the evening with that bitch.”

“Fuck you,” Lydia slowly replied.

They glared at each other once more and Jean rolled his eyes. “Ladies. Can we get going? We’re starving.”

They had to wait a short moment for the girls to calm down and, finally, the four of them went on their way to the dinner hall. They changed their mind halfway through and hopped in Allison’s charming three-doors, a white Audi that looked brand new each time she took it out. She had other cars of course, red and pink ones, custom ones, others that were worth more than her entire wardrobe—which wasn’t little. Allison had a thing for taste and luxury, just like Jean did; an innate sense of aesthetic that she valued more than anything. She’d wreck her feet on beautiful pairs of heels, she’d endure the pain of manicures and wax and running every morning. Allison was self-made, an artist, forging every little detail of her life in her own image.

Nathaniel loved that with a force he could not describe. It emanated the same energy as for Jean, who couldn’t stand ugliness in its raw forms; he found people pretty in their own ways, but things—things had to be perfect. Sleek, gorgeous, a satisfying kind of beauty. He couldn’t live without it. It was him who had the perfect Instagram feed, with a black and white theme, him who had the greatest tastes, the most beautiful phone, the most handsome clothes, a sharp kind of minimalism he practiced to perfection. In retrospect, Jean and Allison were like long-lost siblings, except Allison was a colorful soul made of reds and pinks and whites, whereas Jean preferred black to anything. Lydia, though, was Allison’s perfect twin, and that was probably what got on their nerves so badly.

They stopped at a magnificent restaurant they didn’t need to reserve for—they had _names_ —, and Lydia and Allison made sure to sit on opposite sides. Allison took fine lobster, Lydia some tartare, and Jean and Nathaniel both ordered caviar and some intricate Indian dip based off eggplants. What usually was a three-course meal had to be cut short by their timing, as two of them had to go back to Evermore, but putting the ladies on the same backseat for the ride home was a mistake.

Five minutes after the engine had been turned on, they were clawing on each other, yelling in the back of the car like mad men or animals. It was a little bit of craziness, a tiny bit of hate, and a wondrous amount of issues they didn’t want to resolve. Both girls could have been friends, long ago, but they were way too prideful for excuses and equality. Two queens couldn’t rule the same kingdom—unless they were together.

Allison grabbed the back of Lydia’s hair and she winced in response. Lydia threatened to pull on Allison’s fake nails, then to tear off her Gucci blouse, and both ended up slapping each other in the face. Jean’s attempts at making them stop were fruitless, so Nathaniel and Jean kept driving her car in silence; peeping in the rearview mirror but not needing so to sense the invasive tension flooding the habitacle.

“Why don’t you kill each other already,” he mumbled.

Allison heard it. “I will if she doesn’t fucking stop! Bitch get off!” but Lydia held on and they kept fighting for another long minute until, eventually, they got tired.

Hair disheveled they tried to put themselves together for the public, and, when they parked before Evermore’s main building, both girls were looking pristine as though nothing had ever happened. Nathaniel laughed at them and got out, then let Allison get out in her turn, and he caught both girls sending each other death glares over the roof of the car.

It was useless to tell them to stop.

Allison and Jean went to their classes and they stayed behind, striding peacefully around the park. They eventually found a brick wall to sit on and, immediately started changing topics.

“So. The Foxes?” he asked.

She stayed silent for a moment. “I know.”

“Do you like them?”

“Like I can like teammates. As much as it’s possible to. Which is… oddly not that much. They’re all sick fucks, you know. That’s why I feel good on the team.”

“We’re sick fucks too.”

“They’re… different,” she tried to explain. “They’re broken. I’m not going to fix them, hell I’ve got my own issues going on, but… they get it. I think they do.”

“And what about your parents?”

“They still threaten to cut me off completely which, somehow, I suppose will happen.”

“Ain’t no going back, then.”

“It’s too late for that. I’m a Fox now.”

“You know, I meant it. When I said we were sick fucks too, I meant it.”

“Don’t you like your team?”

“I do but. We’ve done things. Things we shouldn’t have done, perhaps.”

“What do you mean?” Allison frowned, and scooted closer to him on the brick wall.

“There was this girl called Nina. Innocent-looking face, boring at first. Still boring past that. But she was… normal. Didn’t do no wrong to anybody, just minded her business.” He paused. “She came to us for drugs.”

“And?”

“And we gave it to her. Like we always do.” He paused, again, this time for a longer time. “She overdosed.”

Allison opened her mouth but said nothing. Eventually, she looked away and brought her hand closer to his, brushing his finger with hers.

“It’s not your fault. That was her decision, you know it. Don’t you feel guilty about something you can’t change now.”

“That’s it,” he said, voice sharp and lost. “That’s the problem. That’s why I’m a sick fuck.” He looked away, watched the trees move with the wind. Nobody was there to listen, to hear their heavy confession; there didn’t seem to be anything at all around here. They were lost in the chilly air, all alone, and it felt like he couldn’t run away anymore. “I don’t feel guilty at all.”

 

 

Allison stayed in their dorm as the three of them went to the outlook. The rest went to the Obelisk but she didn’t feel like following them, not without Nathaniel at least. She could have spent the evening with Lydia, too, but that was as dumb a suggestion as it was suicidal.

The outlook was about twenty minutes away by car, long enough for Nathaniel and Kevin to switch the aux cord a few times during the trip. Jean didn’t care, he had his own music he didn’t really share, and he didn’t mind listening to what was on their minds. He always said that was the best way to enter their cryptic, complicated souls—through music. He listened distractedly as he drove, not caring quite much about Nathaniel staring at Kevin in the rearview mirror, smiling slyly like he had something in mind. Oh he was used to it by now. Then Kevin watched as Nathaniel prepared and mixed a bottle of lean in the passenger seat, and adverted his eyes when Nathaniel felt the weight of it on his back.

He hadn’t said a single word.

“So,” Jean said. The two boys looked up but none replied. “Are you gonna talk about it? Because if you aren’t, I’m going to make you.”

“Talk about what,” Nathaniel mocked as he poured cough syrup in the bottle.

Kevin shot him a bad look in the rearview mirror but he was ignored to the end of it. After all, it was Kevin who had ignored him first. Yet he was here, in the car, following them to the outlook for whatever reason. He didn’t know. He simply felt he had to—like there was nowhere else to be than at their side. Though it sounded stupid, it was the only thing Kevin was certain of.

“I thought ignoring issues was our strong side.”

“I didn’t know us fucking was an issue,” Nathaniel snapped.

“It’s not,” Kevin blushed—and frowned, because the sudden agression had him anxious.

“We’re here,” Jean said to cut their shit off. He turned the engine off and waited for his boys to calm down before they finally got out. When they did, the three of them leaned on the front of the car and watched the city underneath.

“It’s pretty,” Kevin said.

“That’s the first time you come here?”

“You’ve never taken me.”

“You’ve never asked,” Nathaniel snapped again.

“Stop it. What he means is that you’ve never followed us.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to?”

Jean ran a frustrated hand in his hair and sighed. He took a moment to think about it and then, suddenly, turned around and grabbed Nathaniel’s neck. They kissed before him, unshaken, daring—mouths wide open and teeth clinking against each other’s as tongues met. It lasted a good minute and they parted like nothing happened, both looking at Kevin expectantly.

It took a while, but he got the hint. Kevin warily walked to them and, eyes on Nathaniel, brought his lips to Jean’s. He didn’t expect the kiss to get so passionate, but it did, hands running over bodies, breaths stopping and starting again. Then he felt fingertips brushing against his ear and Nathaniel was there, smiling like he had finally gotten what he wanted.

“See. Wasn’t that hard.”

“Shut up,” Kevin said, but Jean grabbed his jaw and kissed him before he could play Nathaniel’s game.

It went on for a long moment before they sat back on the hood of the car and let silence wash over their worries. They shared the bottle of lean and slowly let themselves drift away, getting higher and higher every second, hands brushing, words teasing, but never quite doing anything about it. They were content just being there, together. Then they could hear sirens in the distance and Nathaniel felt how tense it suddenly turned Kevin’s body against his. He did stare at him from the side, half-worried, half-mocking; but Kevin didn’t return any of it.

Nathaniel leaned in and kissed Kevin’s shoulder. He finally turned and, in a glorious second, smiled.

It was a rare thing to witness and both boys enjoyed the sight as much as they could, longing for it to happen again. Then Kevin on anxiety again and it’s like he couldn’t breathe.

“They’re gonna get us aren’t they?”

Nobody answered.

“I know they are. They always do.”

“I think you overestimate their capacity,” Nathaniel shrugged. “Besides… for what it is worth, if we fall, we fall together.” But he knew full well his parents wouldn’t let him go to waste like this. They would make everything in their power to save him from jail time and life sentences and all the terrible things that were probably awaiting.

But it was only the beginning.

On their way home to Evermore, as Nathaniel and Kevin fought about their night alongside Lydia, in subtle words that saved Kevin’s prudishness and reserve, something appeared in front of the car and Jean hissed, pushing on the brake pads as strongly as he physically could—their bodies flying forward then brutally brought back by their seat belts.

“Shit!” The car abruptly stopped and they heard a sickening noise—this of bones crushing underneath the weight of the car, the wide wheels; and Kevin brought a hand to his mouth to stop himself from throwing up. Nathaniel’s lips parted in muted surprise. As for Jean, he glanced at the radio, playing Schubert’s Swan Songs, D. 957 Ständchen, and looked around him before pushing the off button. Silence washed over them once again—this time, like a sort of punishment, heavy and suffocating.

And, slowly, Jean pressed the accelerator.

They parked the car in the parking lot and silently walked to the dorms, where Kevin, Nathaniel and Jean undressed in perfect calm. They climbed in bed and hung onto each other, bodies warm but restless, minds more awake than they were supposed to be past three a.m.

“Did we…” Kevin started, but he couldn’t finish the sentence. He searched for Jean’s gaze in the darkness, then above his shoulder for Nathaniel’s, but neither boy replied.

They knew what had just happened. They knew they had killed someone—

Again.


	7. karma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys discover something shocking and get drunk out of their minds to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like it quite as much as I want to but yknow how it be. yes I used two prompts I had written long ago and edited them slightly to fit the scenes because y'all I gotta place them somewhere! hope you like it anyway.  
> my tumblr is @wndg and my tfc sideblog is @jeanjosten, come at me with questions and remarks because I love getting them

It had been a week since they had run over the unknown, a week since someone on campus had gone missing for good. The police always left twenty-four hours to every disappearance in case of fugues, accidents, and other meaningless incidents—but this was no incident and Nathaniel knew it. Soon enough the whole campus would be plagued with missing posters, plastered with the same mundane face they had probably already crossed someday or two. It would go big, and people would search for them. That’s when they’d feel targeted, eyed even though people didn’t linger longer than usual; spied though no one could possibly know. That was guilt.

Now, Nathaniel was at home, eating in silence with his mute parents. They didn’t say anything; for no reason particularly, simply because they didn’t have anything to say. That is how things happened in the Wesninski household. Nobody talked about their day, nobody asked how business was going. For once, Nathaniel felt thankful for it all—he didn’t want to smalltalk, he didn’t want to say: mom, dad, I have killed people.

He had thought Kevin would be more prone to guilt than he was, but it was Jean who had been driving that night. This meant both that he was his partner in crime, and that Jean would be the one getting incriminated for the murder if the missing person had actually died. He didn’t want to think about visits to jail, hands over hands through the glass of the parlor, voices shaken and whispered over the telephone. He wanted Jean entirely—not like that. And, more importantly, he wanted both of his boys to be safe, even if it meant he wouldn’t be.

It was something new to feel for him, and he couldn’t quite get the hang of it, like something so strange and unusual it would feel unnatural. But it felt right, it felt so right, and Nathaniel thought he wouldn’t exchange it for the world.

An old German opera by Mozart was playing in the background, interspersed by the familiar clinking of expensive cutlery, turning dinner into something uneasy and heavy and terrible. Nathaniel could almost see the washed out blood on his father’s hands, wondered who he had been beating up today. Business. One he was supposed to inherit moreover.

He drank Champagne until he couldn’t count how many glasses he had had anymore, and headed upstairs to lock himself in his room. He went on his phone, but no notification awaited—then swiped upwards on Instagram to see what Jean was up to. No news. He locked his phone and sighed, lonely. He abhorred going back home.

Neil’s fingers played on the edge of the phone and then he decided to call Jean. Fuck whatever was holding him back. It took two tries to get to him, and when he did, it was only after three beeps.

“Hey?” Jean asked, slightly worried. It was only nine p.m., unusually early for Nathaniel to call without reason.

“We should go back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The body. We should go back and see if it’s still there.”

It took so long for Jean to reply that Nathaniel wondered if he had hung up on him. “You’re crazy.”

“I might be crazy but we still need to know.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

Jean sighed loud enough for him to hear. He took another minute to decide, and Nathaniel could feel him nodding through the line. “Okay.”

 

 

 

It was hard to find the exact place they had hit the body, at night and drunk, but they put insane meticulousness into the task. Kevin wasn’t there—they thought better than to involve him in a such an anxiety-inducing aventure—and they casually responded to his texts and snaps like they were at home, doing nothing. It was like lying, but a better sort of lying; something good and thoughtful they considered useful to do. Kevin didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to ponder at night, wondering if the person they had hit was an animal or a living individual. Living, that is, if they hadn’t already killed them.

There they were at night, walking down the road they remember fleeing from as they lit the concrete with their mobile phones. “Shit, I can’t see anything,” Nathaniel mumbled.

“Patience, patience.”

It took as long as they had expected it to, and, finally, after a long hour in the dark, Jean cleared his throat. “Nate.”

He looked up, startled. “What?”

“There is blood here.”

Both boys stopped moving—stopped breathing. It was dry and muddy, but fresh enough that it still had the familiar color of blood: dark burgundy, forgotten, fading to black as cars drove past it. They searched around it, waiting to stumble upon a dead body somewhere in the ravine, but they found no one. The body was gone.

“Maybe they took it and… didn’t ask questions.”

“It’s a dead body on a busy road. Of course they asked questions,” Jean said. “If we’re lucky enough, there’s no trace of my car’s wheels on this concrete. Otherwise, I am kind of screwed.”

Nathaniel breathe out and got closer to him. He slid a hand on Jean’s back in a tender gesture and pinched his lips in anxiety. If the body wasn’t here anymore, this meant someone had found it and they knew it full well. There was no other option.

Nathaniel didn’t go home that night. Instead he went to his car and followed Jean to the dorms, where he pretended he’d never gone home at all. They slept against each other, trembling with the cold under the thin covers, searching for each other’s warmth—trying hard to ward bad thoughts off. It was hard, but they managed: they had done it all before with Nina, after all.

Though Nina had come to her own death, they had only been the instrument; the process was the same or so they assumed. It could only be the same. What other choice did they have? If history had repeated itself, then so be it.

They woke up on opposite sides of Jean’s bed, covers tangled in their feet, and got ready without a single word. It’s only when they sat in the hall, at their usual table, that conversation started.

Richard didn’t say a word to Nathaniel, but he didn’t need to: his stare was so cold even Jean noticed. Riko was talking about lacrosse with Raj, and Lydia was looking at other girls from the neighboring table like they had something she didn’t. He didn’t care to know what. He only had one thing in his mind.

He felt Jean’s hand on his thigh and floated back to reality.

“Act normal,” Jean whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Are we going out tonight?” Lydia asked out of boredom.

“It’s only Monday,” Richard stated.

“So what? We’re so young, so beautiful. I don’t see why we should stay inside all day all night.”

“She’s right,” Jean said, and everyone looked up in surprise. He usually didn’t care too much about these futilities. “Let’s go out together.” They would go to their usual place, get wasted and forget—he knew that was all Nathaniel needed right now. But, mid-sentence, Lydia’s enthusiastic words got drowned out by the clinking of a fork hitting china: there, in the great hall, someone had just walked in.

It was Kevin who had dropped his fork, spotting the girl walking past them. She was in crutches, all bruised and battered, hair shaved to the side where surgeons must have had to intervene. She looked every inch like the body they had left behind—no name, no face, but a body full of guilty testaments.

She could barely walk.

The boys exchanged worried gazes under Riko’s stare. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Who is she?” Jean asked like nothing had happened. Kevin took back his fork and looked away, face suddenly pink.

“I don’t know, some student. Never heard of her. She must have annoyed one of the rugby dudes.”

“Or maybe her lacrosse try-out didn’t end well,” Raj joked. It was well-meaning, but Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to laugh. His throat was going tighter and tighter with the need to know, the need to ask. He watched as the girl sat on the far end of the room, helped by two other classmates, and didn’t tear his eyes off her back.

From the outside, and from afar, there was nothing peculiar about the girl. Her hair was a plain brown, not too dark, not blonde enough; her eyes were shy and almond-shaped like a doe’s, innocent but clueless enough to not retain any attention. She needed a second look to really attract someone’s eyes, and even then, people would probably look away eventually. She was… unnoticeable. Like someone who could go missing, just like that.

Nathaniel thought perhaps this was a coincidence. Maybe she had fallen down the stairs or gotten physically abused in the street at night. Maybe she simply fell off a horse or badly executed her gymnastics routine. Who knew. But then, in a split second, the girl turned around to look at Jean, and they knew.

 

 

Denial had always been something Kevin Day was outstandingly good at. And it never seemed to bother him, not really, not when he could sidestep the truth and keep going, head held high because nothing could possibly hurt. And though it wasn’t the exact truth, either, he did a just as outstanding job at convincing himself so.

Perhaps were these boys the first time he’d ever learned about denial—about willingly protecting yourself from what is and what could be, and Kevin couldn’t possibly tell whichever he hated the least between the two. What was was uncertain; was could be even more so. It was hazy and unsure and might never happen, and he didn’t see what good it would do to linger on a thought that’d always remain one.

But these boys, these boys—they drove him mad, in every way, they haunted him like you’d beg not to be. They were here in every turn in every corner, waiting, watching, sharing knowing glances like they could see through him and, oh, there was nothing more dangerous than that. The only thing Kevin could do, then, was back away or avert his eyes, and he’d learned Nathaniel Wesninski and Jean Moreau were two things hard to look away from.

They addressed no truth, acknowledged none, even when they were deep in each other’s arms. It made it easier, for Kevin at least, a weight falsely light in his chest, the never-ending whisper of a lessened importance. He’d tell himself they weren’t his responsibility, that they weren’t his, and, most importantly, than he wasn’t theirs. How much of a lie this was, he could tell, but he’d never come close enough to admit it.

At least, not to them.

It’d happened on that Monday night, when all students had gone out to black out in any way they could, drowning their golden sorrow in Champagne flutes and bottomless glasses of vodka. Neon lights and loud music had nothing on them tonight, and they’d preferred to stray away from the crowd —and the gang with it— by locking themselves up in Nathaniel and Jean’s room. It was a nice place to be, on a Saturday night, a nice place to lose yourself. At first, they were supposed to follow the gang at the Obelisk—but then Kevin threw a panic attack and the three of them decided to stay indoors, safe and sound, just the three of them. It seemed okay.

They’d drunk, perhaps not enough. It’s only when Nathaniel reached out for a kiss that Kevin stopped, jolting awake like his body had only been a witness until now. It’d been a week, but pride and lust never seemed to cease their war, never quite settling on a victor. Indecisiveness was the worst thing to happen to someone like Kevin Day, someone who already had everything—and everyone.

“What’s the deal,” Jean had commented in Nathaniel’s stead from where he sat on the ground, right against the bedframe. He was holding Nathaniel’s cigarette, idly offered in order to crawl towards Kevin, but he took a drag still, uncaring what was his and what wasn’t. Whatever Nathaniel had, anyway, had always been his too. This applied to Kevin as well, and when the air was so heavy between the three, hanging like a threat, an unsaid truth, it was hard to ignore it.

“No matter,” he nodded. “Just tired.” This morning’s happening had nothing on weariness. It was anxiety, but this—this was something entirely else.

Jean—oh, Jean—he’d always been good at deciphering truths and lies. Nathaniel, the pathological liar, the one who only whispered veracity on the edge of wet lips. It was a privilege, that much Kevin, to be fed trueness instead of painted lies, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it when dread and uncertainty crawled all over his skin, claiming it, wanting his every doubt.

“You’re not tired,” Nathaniel nonchalantly corrected as he sat back down, smile long gone, presumably for having been denied. Jean didn’t waste time fixing it, leaning forward with Nathaniel’s cigarette between his fingers and searching for the boy’s lips. Kevin watched as they kissed, brows furrowed and body tense, and though both could sense it, nobody addressed Kevin’s urge to run away from here and not look back.

Sarcastically, as he’d been proven otherwise too many times to consider it, Nathaniel turned away from Jean’s parted lips and gave Kevin the most cruel smile he could possibly dig up through the comfortable haze of his drunkenness. “Do you have a problem with boys kissing other boys?” Kevin’s face turned white, not liking the accusation; but he didn’t deny it, either. “If so, I think you should have realized that much weeks ago. Isn’t it a bit too late now that you’ve tasted us?”

Jean’s hand possessively slid up Nathaniel’s neck, but it was hard to tell if it was a tender caress or a request to go gently on him. Whatever it was, Nathaniel seemed to ignore it, though he softened at the touch.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Jean’s laughter came clean and elegant, as though he hadn’t spent the entire evening gulping down strong alcohol to dissipate the delicate pain of his everyday life—and the last twenty four hours. He seemed powerful, more now than ever the usual, and Kevin’s lips squeezed shut as he swallowed down.

“You might want to let him go, Nath. He’s obviously not one of us.” The words were too vague to be understood in the same breath, and Kevin searched, painfully, what they could possibly mean. He was part of the gang more than Jean could ever be; he was planted so deep in the ground he couldn’t be uprooted. He’d been there before Jean ever came around. He’d been Nathaniel’s. It only took another man at Nathaniel’s arm for Kevin to figure that much out. And Jean, Jean, he was terrible. He was a storm no one could resist—no one ever wanted to resist.

“I’m not like you,” Kevin defended himself when Nathaniel’s frown became clear.

The silence that followed didn’t last long, but it still sent shivers down Kevin’s spine. He should never have been there in the first place.

He started to get up, drunkenly, but get up nonetheless, and Nathaniel rushed at his woke. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You can’t forbid me to leave,” Kevin spat. “It’s not even my room.”

“It never seemed to be a problem for you all these times,” Nathaniel snapped, and if Kevin had been a little more sober, perhaps he could’ve sensed the deep hurt in his voice. Jean felt it, from where he was, straightening against the bed as though ready to intervene. He never liked people talking to him with that tone, and that Kevin would do, too, was a first they hadn’t anticipated.

“Well no worry, it shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“You know what, Kevin,” Nathaniel shook his head, slowly, and Kevin felt it before it even passed his lips. “You’re such a fucking coward, running away from everything that seems a little daunting. It’s hard to believe you’re a champion, when you coward-piss on everything when it gets a little tougher than you had expected it to be. We’re not a threat. We’re not a game, either. And what happened to this girl—”

“We don’t know for sure,” Jean intervened.

“—What happened to this girl is just the proof that you can’t handle us. I wouldn’t be surprised if you ran off and dropped our names in the same split second.” That was a lie, but Nathaniel was too hurt to make the difference.

“I’m not trying to win you,” he was told then, with the vicious tone of pride. “You don’t have anything to give me, anyway.” He didn’t try to defend his loyalty to them; that, they all knew was pure and pristine, something divine and untouchable.

Jean’s face darkened visibly, but Nathaniel’s lit up—and that’s where all the danger lied.

“No, surely, we’re so under you. Maybe if you weren’t so fucking frightened by Riko’s opinion of you, and what others might think you really are, you’d be brave enough to be more than this piece of shit. If that’s all you’re going to be, then, we don’t want you, either.”

It was a bold thing to speak for Jean, but, tense, he didn’t move or give any sign of objection, even when Kevin slid his gaze his way. He stared back only, harsh and hard, unforgiving—trying to hurt Kevin with the weight of his anger as much as Kevin had hurt them both with everything. Words weren’t enough anymore; it was the way he’d gotten up, fearfully, the way he was avoiding their eyes, the way it seemed like a life or death matter to get far away from them as soon as possible. They were a disease he didn’t want to be infected by, and he was running away, yet again.

Nathaniel had thought they were safe. He had hoped this could work.

He had been intimately certain it would.

“Who would want you,” Kevin frowned, but the false bravery in his crossed features was nothing but guilt. The anger self-directed, the shame, buried deep down. Every word was a lie and they all knew it—but he couldn’t keep them from hurting. “You’re just a pathetic duet of psychopaths doing drugs and sharing beds and chasing after something you can’t have.” He may have talked about himself, but perfection was more likely; though, somehow, they knew they could only reach it when together. The three of them. It was the first and only condition. “I don’t want to be part of these obscure almost-killings. I have no part in this. I don’t want to.”

It was painful, more than he thought it would be, to see Nathaniel so willingly step aside and let him go. The door was there, it was his; and he could choose not to leave, but it seemed inevitable now. The damage was done, and Nathaniel looked too exhausted, too disappointed to even let his anger get the best of him. Jean was already up, sliding behind Nathaniel with all his height to make sure he’d have something to hit or lean against or be wrapped by when Kevin would be out of here. It seemed as though he’d never come back.

Kevin eyed them carefully, taking in what he was only now realizing he was saying goodbye to, what he was sacrificing for the sake of the image he’d always wanted to give himself. Riko’s, perhaps; or whatever had worked so well up ‘till now. The champion of lacrosse, Edgar Allan’s golden boy, the History prodigy—how could he allow himself to slip up and fall in love, with two boys who only brought chaos to this world? They seemed doomed and he kew it. They knew it too. Kevin Day didn’t want to be doomed.

But Kevin Day was already in love.

He gave them one last look, perhaps hoping they’d try to make him stay though he knew he didn’t deserve that much. Being haughty could be forgiven, they all were; but this, this betrayal, it was unspeakable. It wrenched their guts and froze their hearts and made it hard to breathe, reminding the selfish part of themselves that nothing was ever taken for granted. Nothing was ever really theirs but each other. Kevin was only a fleeting ghost, something they’d wanted, had for a while, but weren’t able to keep. And it hurt. Why so?

Because they were in love, too.

None of them slept that night. Not Kevin, kicking off the sweaty sheets off his scorching skin, listening to Riko’s drunken breathing to ground himself back in reality. Certainly not Jean and Nathaniel, who, wrapped around each other, stared at the darkness, wondering why they couldn’t have the only thing they had ever wanted. They didn’t think too much about the girl that night, too busy longing for the one boy they never seemed to quite be able to completely catch.

 

 

 

Nathaniel waited at the doors of the great hall the next morning. He pulled on his tie and slipped two innocent hands in his pockets, waiting for the girl to come around. And she did.

He approached her like people approach others in the street: wary, embarrassed, yet not quite. He had the determination of an ecologist volunteer, the discretion of a stranger.

“Hey.”

She stopped in her tracks and recognized him instantly. Her brows furrowed but she didn’t say anything.

“I’m—”

“I know who you are,” she cut him off. It could have a threat, but it was a smile instead, and Nathaniel didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe she simply knew him from the lacrosse team. “Everyone does.”

He made a face, inquiring in silence.

“Yes, you’re part of Riko’s gang.” It wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered—Riko’s gang—but he would accept it. “You always hang out with the lacrosse vice-captain and that handsome French guy.”

“Indeed.”

“What can I do for you?”

Nathaniel made his best, empty, Wesninski smile. “I was just wondering. How did you get in such a bad shape? What happened to you: sports, bad luck?”

“A little bit of both,” she said, and Nathaniel felt an odd weight off his chest. “Now if you don’t mind I have to meet my friends before class, I haven’t eaten yet.”

He nodded and let her go, watching her pass by with her crutches. She had sutures on her arm and head, bruises on her jaw, and probably fractures elsewhere than her leg. He couldn’t imagine the pain.

Just before she entered the hall, she stopped and look around. Nobody was there to listen.

“Nathaniel?” she called.

He kept going, charming and false like his father would. This was what they called communication skills. “Hm?”

“Drive safely next time.”

She turned around, leaving Nathaniel alone and agape, mouth wide open in shock.

 

 

The gang was going to the Obelisk again, and Jean and Nathaniel took longer than usual to get ready.

“Maybe you misheard,” Jean tried.

“I did not.”

They put their suits on, tied their ties and cuffed their wrists. It’s only when they were ready that they spoke again.

“What do we make of her?”

“Later,” Jean imposed. “Later we will see. For now, let’s forget.” He walked up to him and, with all his height, leaned in for a kiss. Nathaniel grabbed his collar and responded to the kiss with the all the fear and affection he had in him, not wanting anything to happen to Jean because of that particular night. He would make sure of it—in fact, he promised.

When they opened the door, though, Kevin was there, hands in his pocket, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for them.

“I’m sorry,” is all he said.

Jean and Nathaniel waited a moment. Jean’s phone buzzed with unnecessary notifications and they shared a look, not needing to talk it through.

“You can come, but you better stay with us. You do as I say, you follow me everywhere,” Jean conceded. Kevin nodded at all of this. “You are with us now.”

“Who else?” he asked, half a joke. Really, there wasn’t anything else to be than with them. Not when you were Kevin Day. He wasn’t going to hang out with Riko, or Raj, or Richard.

 

 

At the Obelisk, though, Jean witnessed something he had never witnessed before: Nathaniel and Kevin, drunk, leaning against the counter, flirting with another boy. It was past three a.m. when it happened, after glasses and glasses of whiskey—enough to forget about the mysterious girl who knew about them drunk driving. He grabbed them by the arm and to the bathroom, where they followed without a word, like they were proud of themselves for bringing Jean over that edge.

It was Nathaniel who was the bad influence—Kevin wasn’t one to flirt with boys to begin with, certainly not boys who weren’t them—but tonight, Kevin had drunk twice as much as they all had, needing to numb himself, to brace himself from reality, from what was about to fall upon them soon, very soon, this terrible feeling of impeding doom that never seemed to get too far from them.

“What the fuck was that?”

Jean was furious, dominating them from his entire height as he closed the bathroom door behind him. The room was spacious, luxurious to the core, and they all retreated to their own corner: Nathaniel leaning against the door and Kevin sitting on the border of countertops, fingers curled up around the edge. Jean, on the other hand, stood before the door as though daring them to try and leave before they were done.

The smug look Nathaniel gave Kevin was swiftly returned, and Jean’s anger only grew blacker.

Kevin was serious when he talked, but the defiance in his voice was tainted with an arrogance only Nathaniel could master that well. “I thought it was Nathaniel’s job to get jealous.”

“Don’t play that game with me.”

“We were having fun,” Nathaniel shrugged—and it had nothing, nothing of innocence. Every glance and every move, every little single thing Nathaniel did had the unreasonable purpose of making Jean lose control.

Of course they’d all drunk a little too much, costly Champagne bottles pouring on bare chests and open mouths, flutes emptied and mixed up and stained with deep red lipsticks. It didn’t mean they couldn’t connect with reality still, and though usually it was all but Jean, tonight it was. He looked hurt in every way, the bitter, acid kind of hurt—two steps away from violence.

He let it out, finally, when Nathaniel pushed himself off the wall, uncrossed his arms and smiled a cheeky: “You’re only mad we didn’t invite you.”

The sound Nathaniel did as he was slammed against the wall was all surprised gaps and muffled groans, probably lost somewhere between blunt insults and slurred temptations.

“I said don’t play with me,” Jean slowly let out through dangerous, gritted teeth, hands tight around Nathaniel’s collar.

“I like it when you’re like me,” Nathaniel whispered. “Brutal. Visceral.”

Kevin had crossed his arm a few feet away, idly following the scene like he’d seen it all too much, yet incapable of tearing his eyes off of them, mesmerized by the sight. Nathaniel, he thought, was a little too good at getting exactly what he wanted—most of the time, it consisted in making people crazy. Insane. Out of their minds and never back. For once, that it wasn’t Kevin he wanted to infuriate should have been enough of a relief, but another kind of frustration was born, then, a little more vicious; arousal, annoyance, something as fierce and unavoidable as lust. He liked seeing them fight, because he knew what it meant. He knew what lied beneath. He knew how they ended it.

It was all but the first time they did. Except now, he was there.

For some reason, Nathaniel had thought it clever to bring Kevin into a corner and share a boy’s mouth—a gentle, pretty one, one that surely wasn’t Jean’s. They’d managed the seduction in a few blinks, taking turns before kissing each other in front of his bewildered eyes—then earned black looks from Jean who, from the other side of the room, tightened his grip around his flute, distractedly staring. Of course they’d sensed it. Of course they’d kept going. The whole purpose had been to tease him into madness, to make him so unbelievably frustrated he’d have to interrupt and drag them to the Obelisk’s bathroom to lecture them both. They didn’t mind sharing people, not really, not as long as they did so willingly. That Jean had been cautiously ruled out from the mess of tongues couldn’t possibly be pleasant. At least, Nathaniel looked satisfied with himself, remembering a little too well the way Jean had dismissed the both of them when they’d clearly asked for his attention, earlier on that night. Now they seemed even.

“You can play your games on these simpletons as long as you wish to, Nathaniel. But you do not get to involve me. Not when I’m on the other side of your trap.”

Nathaniel swallowed his every word, parting lips with a gasp as he was pinned harder and harder, anger transfusing in Jean’s terrible grip. He was the tallest of them all, and Nathaniel didn’t mind craning his neck to look up, offering a tan, freckled throat that only asked to be bitten—or sliced.

“Does that mean we’re growing on you?” Nathaniel grinned, arrogant.

“Of course we are,” Kevin’s unimpressed voice slurred from behind. He pushed himself off the edge of the counter, making his way towards them, though Jean didn’t bother taking his eyes off of Nathaniel’s smug expression. God did he hate it, god did he wish he could slap it off. “Why else would the boy who never blinks an eye be grumpy? Feels like we’ve found the weak spot, doesn’t it?”

The smile was directed at Nathaniel, who happily gave it back, all teeth and fangs and dangers.

Then there was Jean’s hand holding his chin in place, pushing his head back against the wall. It was firm and stern, like they knew Jean could be. Watching him lose control was, perhaps, the most fascinating thing they had ever seen.

“I’m not weak,” Jean corrected, face cold. Nathaniel’s smile only widened, and Kevin added to the mess as he rested a flat palm on the small of Jean’s back. The way he shivered underneath his touch—even Nathaniel felt it, and he drunkenly bucked his hips with a crazy, maddened smile he didn’t even bother holding back. “I just don’t like to share my things.”

“Your things,” Kevin ghostly repeated as he grabbed Jean’s black shirt at his sides, and violently pulled to pull it out of his slacks. “We’re not your things,” he corrected, falsely offended—or perhaps was he really. “We’re your boys.”

Jean squeezed his eyes shut, refraining a mindless moan at the words. Now Kevin’s hands were trailing underneath his shirt, tracing endless itineraries across his chest, claiming what he considered was his—and Nathaniel’s, cheekier, instantly dug down Jean’s pants. The touch was so sudden, so craved—Jean couldn’t help but gasp, grip loosening around Nathaniel’s collar with each passing second.

“Say it,” Nathaniel teased as he plunged for the throat, mouthing wet kisses that tasted like vodka.

“Fuck you,” he breathed out, almost dreamily. He looked thousand miles away from reality, anger long forgotten, hands falling from Nathaniel’s neck to hold back his weight against the wall. Nathaniel didn’t complain when he was pinned against it one more time, this time by Jean’s unyielding, lean body.

He caught a glimpse of Kevin’s smile when he whispered the words, “not yet,” at his ear.

“I love you,” Jean rushed, too unnerved to try and fight back longer than that. It was no big deal; he’d said it plenty of times before, by now, but once he started, oh, he couldn’t stop. “I love you both,” he mouthed at Nathaniel’s temple, and his hand moved around him like a reward. “I love you, I love you, I love you—” he kept singing, blindly searching for Kevin’s head where he was carefully hidden in his back.

“Good boy,” Kevin nodded against his skin, sliding wet lips across his bare shoulder as he pulled on the collar to uncover a little more skin.

“We love you too,” was Nathaniel’s cheeky response as he bit his lip, watching the way Jean pressed himself against him for more, always more. “We love you so bad.” And now that they’d come to terms with that fact, it was so easy losing themselves in the thick, drunken haze of desire.

Jean repeated it again, and again, and again, losing his ground, losing the concept of time and the notion of distance, searching and asking and begging, being given every single thing he had been denied all night. Even as they were done, the words still seemed to echo around the bathroom, sliding down marble, undying.


End file.
